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Installment IV: Thank Vietnam For Introducing Me To "The City"
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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 Fran, was the jumping off space to the garden spot(Nam) of Southeast Asia. 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 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 Fran were normal.
As the departure point for Nam, daze that I was in, couldn't really take all of it in and little did I know that San Fran would be my home after the Army. Things looked pretty drab, none of the greenery which was so familiar in North Carolina.
We went through this entrance gate at Travis, busy place, Air Force types everywhere. We wound around several streets and buildings and ended up at a processing point. It is all a little fuzzy to me. 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 info would be forthcoming. I met this young Lieutenant who immediately said, "Want to go out and beat around? he asked.
He persisted and we are on our way. We get to San Francisco and immediately end up in North Beach. What I didn't realize then, but do now: San Francisco is simply a bunch of little villages stuck together-Italian, Chinese, Asian of various sorts, Spanish; you name the ethnic group and they are in San Fran.
The taxi driver takes one look at us and North Beach and the risqué section of San Francisco is our lot. There are 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 naïve, white boy from NC, I was absolutely overwhelmed and a Vietnam firefight would have seemed a welcome relief.
Finally, my signal buddy leads us into a joint and it looks relatively tame. We sit at the bar and the bartender comes over and says, "Could I see your identification?" I didn't' think much about it at the time, but what did he want to see our IDs for? 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 type of cross, marking the fact that he was a chaplain on the back of he 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 says yells out to the whole bar, "Hey, this guy is a priest and he's on his way to Vietnam."
Every head in the place turns and all of sudden, people are coming over, shaking my hand and three drinks appear. The signal guy had disappeared. I didn't know what to do ,but finally stammered something and walked out the door. I'm sure they felt I was ungrateful, but it all served me right.
I wish I could say this is the end of my Frisco adventure. Not so lucky as the Lieutenant reappears. I say something like I want to get back to Travis; and, before I know it, we have moved out of North Beach and he says, "Here's a nice place, they've probably got a piano bar." Well, it was nothing at least
like before- no dancing, strippers or anybody 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, as she disappeared and never did return with my change. Welcome to San Fran.
Later on when I returned to San Francisco in subsequent military assignments, I was hooked on the City forever. The natives love to call San Fran, 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 the pretensions down to a minimum. There are many things about this town I love; and, if I had to just choose one, hands down, it would be the fact that in San Francisco, you can be anything you want to be. And, that is no small thing. If there is a more non-judgemental 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 in "The City". Well, I can for one thing. To be out and about in this town and not report all the zany, crazy, weird aspects of life would almost be a sin for someone like me.
INSTALLMENT I: THE BUSES OF THE HAVES AND HAVE-NOTS
INSTALLMENT II: TOO MANY CARS, TOO FEW PARKING SPACES
INSTALLMENT III: In North Carolina I THOUGHT GAY MEANT HAPPY
INSTALLMENT IV: Thank Vietnam FOR INTRODUCING ME TO FRISCO
INSTALLMENT V: THE MAYOR WHO THOUGHT HE WAS KING
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