We left Union Square and entered City of Paris (1850-1976) on Stockton Street. I was awestruck at the sight of a forty-foot Christmas tree (first erected in 1909 to celebrate the store’s survival of the earthquake three years previous). Actual bicycles, skis, sleds and other gifts decorated the monstrous fir, which rose to the stained glass dome. I squinted upwards and spied the outline of an old sailing ship within the ornate skylight. Dad explained that the vessel was the City of Paris and had arrived during the Gold Rush days laden with French wine and Cognac and frilly things for the ladies.
We strolled down an aisle named Normandy Lane. A make-believe village soon engulfed us. A well-groomed gentleman, wearing a white carnation in his lapel, stood behind a bar, which resembled a red lacquered bed. We soon arrived at a red, white and blue kiosk displaying children’s books and French magazines. (more…)
Listening to the radio, you eavesdropped on Happy Holly’s conversation with Santa and tracked his movements with Rudolph and the other reindeer as all dashed from the North Pole and soared toward San Francisco. Without warning, Dad turned off the ignition and escorted everyone toward a magical toy store. You strolled a block from Union Square to Stockton and O’Farrell where a human toy soldier, dressed in a tall purple hat, greeted you with a stiff wave before your family entered FAO Schwarz (located in S.F. since the late 1960’s). Oversized stuffed animals showed their stitched grins along with Humpty Dumpty who sat with an uncertain expression on a rung of a giant tower, which stretched to the second floor. (more…)
Do you remember the Christmas parade rolling along Market Street in downtown San Francisco? As a tot, you were mesmerized as Santa slithered out of his sleigh and wobbled into the Emporium. In a dash, you sped from the cable car turnaround across the street at Powell and rushed passed sidewalk street artists and a good-news prophet who held up sandwich board that read: “Fallen, Fallen is Babylon the Great”. Once inside the seven-story neoclassic structure, the centuries old department store (built in 1896) came alive with a self-promoting tune. An orchestra, situated on a spherical platform above a dining area, bellowed out the “Emporium March” to get your parents and grandma in the capitalistic mood. But grandma wouldn’t have it, complaining “what kind of Santa would be found south of Market?” (more…)
Christmas Past in San Francisco usually started with the task of locating a parking place in the Union Square underground garage. Once successful, the family would climb hand-in-hand up and out of the gray asphalt hole to a magical fairyland. You took in the outfits of the other children and realized why your mother insisted on everyone wearing their “Sunday” best. Dad wore his ugly Santa tie, mom her feathered hat with matching colored gloves, while you donned that Fauntleroy-like velvet suit with lace collar hand-knitted by grandma. White lights illuminated the giant X’mas tree, which stood proudly near a 25-foot menorah (first sponsored by Bill Graham in 1975). (more…)
Let’s take a trip back to Christmas in 1880’s San Francisco. It is interesting to note during this season of divisiveness that three quarters of the population of the City were first generation immigrants. They brought some wonderful traditions that are still with us today. The influx of Irish changed the major holiday of the year from the Protestant promoted Thanksgiving to Christmas. The folks from Ireland (largest group of immigrants to S.F. in 1880), many of whom settled in what is now present-day Mission District, started the custom of putting out cookies and milk (or was it Baileys Irish Cream) for Santa on Christmas Eve. This was based on the practice of leaving the front door open so that Mary and Joseph could enter and find a beverage and sweet bread on their journey to Bethlehem. (more…)
Some one percenters you have fun messing with such as anyone on the front cover of Fortune magazine. Others not so much. There’s an undeniable camaraderie among us common folk to throw the top 1% wealthiest under the bus. However, it’s a different matter altogether when you run across a biker with the same moniker.
Members of outlaw motorcycle clubs such as the Hells Angels, Pagans, Warlocks and Bandidos wear the diamond-shaped patch over their leather jackets. The inspiration for this was traced to 1947 when members of “The Pissed Off Bastards” and the “Boozefighters” motorcycle clubs showed up in Hollister, CA for a bike race which went sideways. The Life magazine story that followed provoked the American Motorcyclist Association (AMA) to denounce the boozed-up bikers. It assured the average Joe that 99% of bikers were law-abiding citizens. (more…)
Sonny Barger and his Hells Angels thundered up Highway One along the California coast one day in the late sixties. As the story goes, they parked their Harleys in front of the Jenner Inn and entered a redwood structure, which housed the lodge office, post office, tavern, family fish house and a general store. The owner refused to serve the bikers, cradling a shotgun. Sonny stood his ground, demanding some liquor. Another refusal. An Angel ignored the response and started to circle the counter toward the whiskey rack.
Without warning, shots rang out. A spray of rock salt hit the biker in the leg. He moaned and started to raise a fist when the owner said that he had called the sheriff. Sonny reeled back in his “brother” and the pack exited the store.
Outside, they were greeted by a pair of deputies. A standoff soon developed. (more…)