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| IN NORTH CAROLINA, I THOUGHT GAY MEANT HAPPY
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From The Life in Frisco Series...
When you live in a place with an enormous gay population, it is immediately noticeable. In most places, if you see two men together or two women, no one thinks about it. Here in San Francisco, this is definitely true.
In San Francisco, if you see two men together or two women, you think, gay. And, about 99% of the time, if you were interested in such things, you'd be right.
For one thing, San Francisco is 40% gay by some accounts. That is almost half the population. And, you better believe, it has political ramifications: Most gays vote; In the so-called, "straight" community, less than 50% vote; In the gay community, 80% of the population votes.
Most of the gay community is fairly liberal or progressive. In San Francisco, they're liberal. Since I've been in the Bay City, I've seen the gay population change big time.
The first book I ever read about homosexuals was one, now get this, I picked up in Fayettenam (Fayetteville, NC, home of Fort Bragg, Home of the Airborne). The book was called, The Mayor of Castro Street about Harvey Milk, the first gay elected official in the United States.
The book, The Mayor of Castro Street, surprised me; I was so naive. The sexual practices in the book floored me. This was before AIDS. The promiscuity was unbelievable; sometimes sex involved as many as 20 different sex partners in one night. How could this be? Could the heterosexual community do this? Superman couldn't do this.
The public bath houses were all the rage then and created the atmosphere for reveling in something with which most can only shake their heads. And, Harvey Milk was the leader of the pack.
When I first came to San Francisco, Castro Street was almost like a tourist attraction. When someone visited, I would inevitably take them into what we would call, The Castro.
I will never forget my oldest brother's visit. My brother was snapping pictures with his camera and I thought someone was going to zap us. Well, when we came to two guys French kissing on a street corner, this was too much. It is a little strange to see a busy intersection, with almost nothing but men. I've noticed that nowadays, there seems to be more of a mixture of men and women.
I was absolutely amazed at my first real look at the gay community. There were the usual sexual jokes we made, just a tad shy of hurtful, I hope. Growing up in a little town in North Carolina, part of the rite of passage was being "felt up" as we called it by the local strange guy that most everybody knew. Or, there was the guy who showed dirty pictures around town. I won't say it was harmless; but, then again, it probably, by the standards then, didn't alter our course in life. In fact, we all knew a local minister who had been known to peep at the naked bodies in the boys locker room with regularity. I do not condone any of this behavior , but it just was. I guess in today's California litigious society, we could have sued for the big bucks.
From all I have learned about the gay community, I say "live and let live." and will have to agree with Dave Ross, this radio commentator on one of the local stations in San Francisco. Dave doesn't have anything against gays or the gay lifestyle. He's a live and let live kind of guy too, but he has to draw the line at men kissing. Why can't they do that at home!!!!!!! Who wants to see anyone kissing on the street??? I mean gee whiz. Shouldn't there be a time and place for everything???
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SF Chronicle/Paul Chinn
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From The Life in Frisco Series...
I don't know what it is about San Francisco mayors but somehow they get overwhelmed with power or at least the ones do that I have known. The latest is the good mayor Gavin Newsome. He performed
4000 plus same sex marriages in violation of California law or so they say.
Now let me say at the beginning, I'm not against same sex marriages. I think we need more love in the world and if two men want to love each other in the Biblical way (sorry fundamentalists for using a Biblical reference); well, more power to them, but let's don't be kissing in public.
Plus, we have got to figure out, along with the Bible thumpers, how to keep the Lesbians from getting a free pass since the Bible doesn't mention them. The mayor, however, tried to make it official. Now, I haven't read this anywhere else, but can hardly believe I am the only one who thinks this.
The mayor really did this probably not so much because he wanted to put a face on discrimination; but, I think, he mainly did it to distinguish himself from the former mayor,
Willy Brown.
(Now, Willy was the master politico. The guy could get elected, let's face it, to almost anything. He single-handedly ran the California legislature for years until term limits forced him out. And, most folks thought he was a crook, in terms of always appointing his buds to high paying offices and collecting big time campaign contributions. But no one ever penned anything on him. Plus, he could get away with the most shenanigans that would jail most other people.
For instance, he had a young thing often on his arm and when she came up pregnant with Willy's child no one as much as raised an eyebrow. He was almost as good at getting a pass in this area asJessie Jackson.)
The good mayor Gav Newsom, needed to make his own place in the sun; how does he do it? Well, spectacular in terms of embracing the largest voting blocK in the city,
the gay community. Perform some gay marriages, get national attention which he did, and the people immediately said, "Willy Who?" Now, of course, he performed the marriage from a weighted down conscious and not some self-serving motive. Where is your faith?
The State Supreme Court struck down the marriages. They used the acceptable term, invalidated. Sounds very cold.
The gay marriage issues aside, as I've already stated my belief, I think that the whole thing cemented (again) the idea that San Fran is like some island unto itself-a city where the bizarre is normal. It would make all of us appear as a chai tea with soy sipping left coaster who has never darkened the door of a Wal-Mart. I don't think all of us are a bunch of left over hippies or Birkenstock wearing residents of Sodom and Gomorrah, but I do know living in San Fran is a wild and crazy experience.
(Originally posted March 2004)
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| BUSES OF THE HAVES AND THE HAVENOTS
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Movin' Movin' Movin'
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From The Life in Frisco Series...
If someone wants to make a social statement or get some enlightment on the haves and have-nots in this country, riding the bus is it.
Books like Nickle and Dimed,which I like, somehow leave out the bus as a barometer of classes in America.
Riding a bus is a realization of how much class is a part of our American society, i.e., the haves and have-nots.
I especially like to ride the bus with my granddaughters. To them, it is a little like a trip to Six Flags. Once we were on a very crowded bus and made a stop in the Mission area where it makes you wonder if there are any Mexicans left in Mexico. Honestly, there are areas that are so much like Tijuana or Nogales or even Juarez. People are cooking on the streets and barely making it. This is San Francisco, not Mexico. I was amazed.
Not a real photo of Lupe, a caricature Real Lupe
| On another day, Lupe, my then eight year old granddaughter, and I are riding the bus and Lupe becomes mesmerized by this female bus driver who is very animated. The driver (Chinese or some Asian nationality) is yelling at other drivers saying, "You idiot, get out of the way." She is entertaining and sees Lupe looking at her and really puts on a show, wheeling the bus, and pumping her fist. Lupe is watching her every move.
At the same point in time, sitting down, in front of us is this lady in Islamic garb: a long robe-like dress and veil(Jilbab) but nothing covering the face(Burqa). She tugs on Lupe's arm and motions for her to sit down. I say to the lady, "Oh, it's OK. I am watching her." She either doesn't understand or ignores me; she tugs and motions for Lupe to sit down. Lupe shakes her head; and, like any curious child, she remains standing so she can see what's going on. The driver, still upset with other drivers, is up and shouting out the door at someone whom she says got "their license by mail order".
laughing-What a Day!
| The bus driver, who is by the way about one hundred pounds, acts like she might "go after" the car drivers. I am just glad for her there were no agressive driving laws then. She's laughing and talking as though everyone is listening and then she's back in her seat. We are moving again.
Somebody tries to sit down beside the Islamic lady; she won't let them and tugs on Lupe's sleeve again to sit down. Lupe looks at her, shrugs, rolls her eyes, and sits down. The Islamic lady relaxes a little and seems happy that Lupe finally did what she was told. The bus driver is still fussing about the other drivers and driving in and out of traffic.
A guy gets on and starts talking to himself, really loudly. He's discussing world events. He discusses the entire newspaper, the homeless situation, and berates Willy Brown, the mayor at that time. Then he says he is going to run against Bush. Everyone is ignoring him. I mean you have to laugh. He has on a wool suit and a big bow tie. Geez, he has to be hot. This is San Francisco.
I begin to wonder if perhaps the slightly schizophrenic guy is "Wavy Gravy", a local comedian that I've read about. I don't think so. We're standing side by side and he says to me: "Got any spare change." I say, "No." He says, "How about a dollar?" I give him five.
Got to love it. A typical bus ride in the Bay City with some haves and have-nots.
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| Thank Vietnam For Introducing Me To "The City"
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REUTERS/Jeff Topping
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From The Life in Frisco Series...
San Francisco has always been a fascinating place to me. I hardly knew it existed when I grew up, as my world was mostly confined to my little town, county, and state. The Army, of course, opened up new vistas and one of those was San Francisco. I have to thank Vietnam.
Travis Air Force Base, about an hour north of San Francisco, was the jumping off point to the garden spot of Southeast Asia(Nam).
Some GIs processed in through Oakland Army Base.(By the way, this is the only Army facility, Oakland, that I know that was called a base. An Army has posts and the Navy, Air Force, Marines, have bases. Just a point.)
I knew we were flying to Vietnam, more or less but didn't think of stopping near San Francisco and had already learned, "just do what someone tells you."
I had never been west before and San Francisco was that mythical place on the left coast. I didn't identify with it then; and, riding through, I had no earthy idea of Haight Ashbury or the year of love or the crazies which in San Francisco were normal.
As the departure point for Nam neared, daze that I was in, I couldn't really take all of the city in and little did I know that San Francisco would be my home after the Army. Things looked pretty drab then, none of the greenery which was so familiar in North Carolina.
Andy Kuno/Reuters
| We went through an entrance gate at Travis; Travis Air force base was and still is a busy place; Air Force types are everywhere. We wound around several streets and buildings and ended up at a processing point. It is all a little fuzzy to me now.
Somehow, we got processed in, assigned a room, and were told that we'd be on our way to Vietnam in a day or two, but more information would be forthcoming.
Immediately after processing, I met this young lieutenant who said, "Want to go out and beat around?" He persisted and we are on our way.
The taxi driver took one look at me and the young lieutenant and drove us to North Beach so the risqué section of San Francisco was our first stop. There were these huge marquees with a picture of Carol Dota, the queen of strippers, and these country fair barker-type guys constantly trying to get us into a strip joint. Talk about a naïve, white boy from NC; I was absolutely overwhelmed and a Vietnam firefight would have seemed a welcome relief.
www.eden.rutgers.edu/~jctang
| Finally, my signal buddy(young lieutenant) led us into a joint and it looked relatively tame. We sat at the bar and the bartender came over and said, "Could I see your identification?" I didn't' think much about it at the time; but why did he want to see our IDs? I could hardly believe we looked underage. I immediately gave him my green active duty military ID; and, almost as if rehearsed, he turned it over. In those days, the Chaplain had a distinctive cross, something akin to a Red Cross symbol, marking the fact that he was a Chaplain on the back of the card.
The bartender looked at me and said, you a "father"? And, while I am trying to stammer out the fact I am a Protestant, or to deny, or go to the bathroom in my pants, this guy yelled out to the whole bar, "Hey, this guy is a priest and he's on his way to Vietnam."
Every head in the place turned; and, all of sudden, people were coming over, shaking my hand and three drinks appeared. My signal buddy had disappeared. I didn't know what to do, but finally stammered something and walked out the door. I'm sure that they felt I was ungrateful, but it all served me right.
http://www.orst.edu/~dragunoa
| I wish I could say that that was the end of my Frisco adventure, but I wasn't so lucky because the lieutenant reappeared.
I said something like I wanted to get back to Travis; but, before I knew it, we have moved out of North Beach and he said, "Here's a nice place, they've probably got a piano bar." Well, it was nothing at least like before- no dancers or strippers or anyone wanting to see our IDs. I ordered a coke and gave the gal a twenty. I didn't have many of them. She sized me up,I guess, and disappeared never coming back with my change. Welcome to San Francisco.
When I returned to San Francisco for subsequent military assignments, I was hooked on the City forever. The natives love to call San Francisco, "the City;" they hate "Frisco." I say Frisco often just to tick them off. After all, part of my job as a white boy from North Carolina is to keep pretense down to a minimum.
http://www.eden.rutgers.edu/~jctang
| There are many things about this city I love; San Francisco is simply a bunch of little villages stuck together-Italian, Chinese, Asian of various sorts, Spanish; you name the ethnic group and there is one in San Francisco.
My favorite thing, hands down, about San Francisco; is that, in this city, you can be anything you want to be; and that is no small thing. If there is a more nonjudgmental city in the world, I surely don't know where it is; I'm sure there are those in Europe, maybe Holland, but not sure.
All this being said, why do I want to chronicle my experiences here? Well, I can for one thing. To be out and about in this city and not report all the zany, crazy, weird aspects of life would almost be a sin for someone like me.
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REUTERS/Kimberly White (UNITED STATES)
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San Francisco has always been a fascinating place to me. I hardly knew it existed when I grew up, as my world was mostly confined to my little town, county, and state. The Army, of course, opened up new vistas and one of those was San Francisco. I have to thank Vietnam.
Travis Air Force Base, about an hour north of San Francisco, was the jumping off point to the garden spot of Southeast Asia(Nam).
Some GIs processed in through Oakland Army Base.(By the way, this is the only Army facility, Oakland, that I know that was called a base. An Army has posts and the Navy, Air Force, Marines, have bases. Just a point.)
I knew we were flying to Vietnam, more or less but didn't think of stopping near San Francisco and had already learned, "just do what someone tells you."
I had never been west before and San Francisco was that mythical place on the left coast. I didn't identify with it then; and, riding through, I had no earthy idea of Haight Ashbury or the year of love or the crazies which in San Francisco were normal.
As the departure point for Nam neared, daze that I was in, I couldn't really take all of the city in and little did I know that San Francisco would be my home after the Army. Things looked pretty drab then, none of the greenery which was so familiar in North Carolina.
Andy Kuno/Reuters
| We went through an entrance gate at Travis; Travis Air force base was and still is a busy place; Air Force types are everywhere. We wound around several streets and buildings and ended up at a processing point. It is all a little fuzzy to me now.
Somehow, we got processed in, assigned a room, and were told that we'd be on our way to Vietnam in a day or two, but more information would be forthcoming.
Immediately after processing, I met this young lieutenant who said, "Want to go out and beat around?" He persisted and we are on our way.
The taxi driver took one look at me and the young lieutenant and drove us to North Beach so the risqué section of San Francisco was our first stop. There were these huge marquees with a picture of Carol Dota, the queen of strippers, and these country fair barker-type guys constantly trying to get us into a strip joint. Talk about a naïve, white boy from NC; I was absolutely overwhelmed and a Vietnam firefight would have seemed a welcome relief.
www.eden.rutgers.edu/~jctang
| Finally, my signal buddy(young lieutenant) led us into a joint and it looked relatively tame. We sat at the bar and the bartender came over and said, "Could I see your identification?" I didn't' think much about it at the time; but why did he want to see our IDs? I could hardly believe we looked underage. I immediately gave him my green active duty military ID; and, almost as if rehearsed, he turned it over. In those days, the Chaplain had a distinctive cross, something akin to a Red Cross symbol, marking the fact that he was a Chaplain on the back of the card.
The bartender looked at me and said, you a "father"? And, while I am trying to stammer out the fact I am a Protestant, or to deny, or go to the bathroom in my pants, this guy yelled out to the whole bar, "Hey, this guy is a priest and he's on his way to Vietnam."
Every head in the place turned; and, all of sudden, people were coming over, shaking my hand and three drinks appeared. My signal buddy had disappeared. I didn't know what to do, but finally stammered something and walked out the door. I'm sure that they felt I was ungrateful, but it all served me right.
http://www.orst.edu/~dragunoa
| I wish I could say that that was the end of my Frisco adventure, but I wasn't so lucky because the lieutenant reappeared.
I said something like I wanted to get back to Travis; but, before I knew it, we have moved out of North Beach and he said, "Here's a nice place, they've probably got a piano bar." Well, it was nothing at least like before- no dancers or strippers or anyone wanting to see our IDs. I ordered a coke and gave the gal a twenty. I didn't have many of them. She sized me up,I guess, and disappeared never coming back with my change. Welcome to San Francisco.
When I returned to San Francisco for subsequent military assignments, I was hooked on the City forever. The natives love to call San Francisco, "the City;" they hate "Frisco." I say Frisco often just to tick them off. After all, part of my job as a white boy from North Carolina is to keep pretense down to a minimum.
http://www.eden.rutgers.edu/~jctang
| There are many things about this city I love; San Francisco is simply a bunch of little villages stuck together-Italian, Chinese, Asian of various sorts, Spanish; you name the ethnic group and there is one in San Francisco.
My favorite thing, hands down, about San Francisco; is that, in this city, you can be anything you want to be; and that is no small thing. If there is a more nonjudgmental city in the world, I surely don't know where it is; I'm sure there are those in Europe, maybe Holland, but not sure.
All this being said, why do I want to chronicle my experiences here? Well, I can for one thing. To be out and about in this city and not report all the zany, crazy, weird aspects of life would almost be a sin for someone like me.
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