Lotta's Fountain
Market Street in San Francisco is an old friend in some ways. Usually I try to avoid driving when I go into town, as parking is horrendous. Additionally, I'm not crazy about driving on some of the really steep hills. Finally, the tourist draws, fun neighborhoods, and general attractions are all on the east side of town, with the exception of the Presidio area, Golden Gate Park, and Ocean Beach. Plus, San Francisco is really a walking town, in the spirit of the best of the East Coast cities. Like Boston proper, San Francisco is fairly compact, and I personally think the best way to really see a city the way it should be seen is on foot.
Because I try to take BART whenever I can, I usually get off anywhere between the Embarcadero and Powell Street stops. This places me on Market Street, where I can easily visit the museums and sights in the northern fringes of SOMA, or head northward to Chinatown, the Financial District, North Beach, Telegraph Hill, and the wharf/pier area on the Embarcadero.
Up until fairly recently, going down Market was the great divide: north of Market generally meant the business districts, touristy neighborhoods, and the more prosperous residential parts. SoMa for a long time was an area of warehouses, gay leather bars and clubs, working class denizens, and a more gritty, "real" side to San Francisco, where San Franciscans lived, worked, played, and died. But on Market itself, you'd start at the Embarcadero and the Bay Bridge, and head all the way down to and past City Hall on a diagonal route, until suddenly it'd curve and straighten out, heading down into the Castro, the Mission, and other neighborhoods. Market Street is one of those old-fashioned grand boulevards, and in past years had quite a few statues, memorials, and the like at major intersections. Lotta's Fountain is one of these, and has sat at Market, Geary, and Kearny since 1875 (it's called "Lotta's Fountain" because the famed entertainer Lotta Crabtree donated it).
I've never been to San Francisco on April 18 of any year that I can remember, nor have I spent a lot of time hanging around Lotta's Fountain. But since 1907, the survivors of the 1906 quake and fire have gathered there to remember that momentous day. I have, though, walked on Grant Street north to California, and looked up at Old St. Mary's. Both Lotta's Fountain and St. Mary's are survivors of the old San Francisco, reputed to be even more beautiful before April 18, 1906 than it is now.
Today is the 99th anniversary of this event, and amazingly enough, there are actually people still alive who were in town that day. Granted, they were quite little or babies at the time, and remember very little, if anything. Some of these aged witnesses gathered at Lotta's Fountain, and ate breakfast at the St. Francis on Union Square, which served the exact same fare that was scheduled for the menu of the morning of April 18, 1906. I'd read an article about one of the survivors, Herbert Hamrol, a few years back. He was still working, at close to 100 years of age, stocking shelves at a supermarket a few days a week. He was mentioned again in articles, and it was astounding to realize he is still working three days a week at age 102. Amazing. I should be so lucky. Naturally, when you're three, you don't remember a whole lot, but even so, what's happened during these people's lives is just amazing. When they were born, cars were still fairly new, and most people didn't yet own one. Airplanes had just been invented, and wouldn't be practical for use for a few more years. Air conditioning was a dream in someone's head. The telephone had been around for a while, but not everyone had one, and those that did were often on party lines. It was an entirely different world, and a completely different San Francisco.
I've read some books about the disaster, one of the best being _The Earth Shook, The Sky Burned_. There's a new book out by Philip Fradkin, _The Great Earthquake and Firestorms of 1906_. I've been meaning to read it, and probably should do so before next year's centenary rolls around. Since 1906, it's been clear that the actual total number of dead was much higher, which is frightening considering that the earthquake is already considered a major calamity in U.S. history.
I've been fortunate never to be in a major earthquake, but considering how much I love my home state and how long I've been living here, it's probably just a matter of time. My mother lived in San Francisco when she was a little girl, and told me that one time she experienced a fairly substantial earthquake. She was living in an apartment at Baker and Clay at the time, and remembered a huge hole in the middle of the street outside afterwards. Older members of my family went through the Long Beach earthquake of 1933, and also the 1971 earthquake in Los Angeles.
I was at Gallaudet when the 1989 earthquake took place. I was in a friend's dorm room in Dorm 5 (Carlin for those of you that are sticklers!), watching the World Series with my guys, the San Francisco Giants. I've never been a baseball fan, but when I do watch, it's the Giants for me. My aunt and my sister are the only A's fans in the family. My aunt is a diehard A's supporter, and actually treated us all to an A's game once. My sister just cheers them on because she's a contrarian who likes to do anything that's different from the rest of us. I mean, hell, she's a California native, has never lived anywhere except Yolo County, and supports the Dallas Cowboys just because she knows it'll piss me off (I of course am a loyal 49ers fan. Yeah, yeah, I know they're in the bottom of the cellar and it's the 1970s all over again. They'll come back eventually).
We were settling in to watch the game, when all of a sudden, the screen went haywire. Great, something's wrong with the reception... but just minutes later, the news came through that it was an earthquake. I got a little nervous, and decided to call home as soon as I could. Luckily, no one in my family was in any danger. The ironic thing is that I had visited San Francisco shortly before during the summer, and while I was driving across the Bay Bridge, idly wondered what it would be like to have an earthquake strike while I was in the middle of the bridge. Thank God that didn't happen to me, because as it soon became clear, quite a few people were on the bridge at the time, and had died when a section of the upper bridge collapsed onto the lower portion (the upper decks are inbound traffic, while the lower decks carry vehicles out of San Francisco. I felt a little guilty afterwards for even wondering that, but I suppose if it had to happen, it was probably a good time to happen. Most people were either at home, in the bars, or actually at Candlestick (and no, I'll never call it 3Com, Monster Park, or anything else stupid-- no self-respecting Californian would do that. It's the `Stick, baby!) watching the game, and thus the roads were a bit lighter than normal. It could have been worse...
The only person that would have been in trouble was my aunt, who lives in Berkeley. But in 1994, I was definitely a bit worried. Again, I was in D.C. as the Northridge earthquake hit the Los Angeles area. My great-grandmother's house is perched on a hill overlooking Chavez Ravine and isn't in the best condition, and other relatives lived in town, so I was hoping everyone was safe. Luckily no one was hurt and there was no damage, but it was definitely a mess for a long time, with various roads and freeways closed, and buildings damaged.
The area I grew up in in California is relatively safe. No wildfires, floods, mudslides, or earthquakes. But now I live in Los Angeles, and since we've moved here, we've felt quakes quite a few times. There's been about three or four over the last few months, actually, so the possibility of being in a big one looms. Still, maybe I'll get lucky again...
In the meantime, on this anniversary, I'll remember those who lived and died on April 18, 1906, even if I won't be at Lotta's Fountain at 5:13 a.m.
Because I try to take BART whenever I can, I usually get off anywhere between the Embarcadero and Powell Street stops. This places me on Market Street, where I can easily visit the museums and sights in the northern fringes of SOMA, or head northward to Chinatown, the Financial District, North Beach, Telegraph Hill, and the wharf/pier area on the Embarcadero.
Up until fairly recently, going down Market was the great divide: north of Market generally meant the business districts, touristy neighborhoods, and the more prosperous residential parts. SoMa for a long time was an area of warehouses, gay leather bars and clubs, working class denizens, and a more gritty, "real" side to San Francisco, where San Franciscans lived, worked, played, and died. But on Market itself, you'd start at the Embarcadero and the Bay Bridge, and head all the way down to and past City Hall on a diagonal route, until suddenly it'd curve and straighten out, heading down into the Castro, the Mission, and other neighborhoods. Market Street is one of those old-fashioned grand boulevards, and in past years had quite a few statues, memorials, and the like at major intersections. Lotta's Fountain is one of these, and has sat at Market, Geary, and Kearny since 1875 (it's called "Lotta's Fountain" because the famed entertainer Lotta Crabtree donated it).
I've never been to San Francisco on April 18 of any year that I can remember, nor have I spent a lot of time hanging around Lotta's Fountain. But since 1907, the survivors of the 1906 quake and fire have gathered there to remember that momentous day. I have, though, walked on Grant Street north to California, and looked up at Old St. Mary's. Both Lotta's Fountain and St. Mary's are survivors of the old San Francisco, reputed to be even more beautiful before April 18, 1906 than it is now.
Today is the 99th anniversary of this event, and amazingly enough, there are actually people still alive who were in town that day. Granted, they were quite little or babies at the time, and remember very little, if anything. Some of these aged witnesses gathered at Lotta's Fountain, and ate breakfast at the St. Francis on Union Square, which served the exact same fare that was scheduled for the menu of the morning of April 18, 1906. I'd read an article about one of the survivors, Herbert Hamrol, a few years back. He was still working, at close to 100 years of age, stocking shelves at a supermarket a few days a week. He was mentioned again in articles, and it was astounding to realize he is still working three days a week at age 102. Amazing. I should be so lucky. Naturally, when you're three, you don't remember a whole lot, but even so, what's happened during these people's lives is just amazing. When they were born, cars were still fairly new, and most people didn't yet own one. Airplanes had just been invented, and wouldn't be practical for use for a few more years. Air conditioning was a dream in someone's head. The telephone had been around for a while, but not everyone had one, and those that did were often on party lines. It was an entirely different world, and a completely different San Francisco.
I've read some books about the disaster, one of the best being _The Earth Shook, The Sky Burned_. There's a new book out by Philip Fradkin, _The Great Earthquake and Firestorms of 1906_. I've been meaning to read it, and probably should do so before next year's centenary rolls around. Since 1906, it's been clear that the actual total number of dead was much higher, which is frightening considering that the earthquake is already considered a major calamity in U.S. history.
I've been fortunate never to be in a major earthquake, but considering how much I love my home state and how long I've been living here, it's probably just a matter of time. My mother lived in San Francisco when she was a little girl, and told me that one time she experienced a fairly substantial earthquake. She was living in an apartment at Baker and Clay at the time, and remembered a huge hole in the middle of the street outside afterwards. Older members of my family went through the Long Beach earthquake of 1933, and also the 1971 earthquake in Los Angeles.
I was at Gallaudet when the 1989 earthquake took place. I was in a friend's dorm room in Dorm 5 (Carlin for those of you that are sticklers!), watching the World Series with my guys, the San Francisco Giants. I've never been a baseball fan, but when I do watch, it's the Giants for me. My aunt and my sister are the only A's fans in the family. My aunt is a diehard A's supporter, and actually treated us all to an A's game once. My sister just cheers them on because she's a contrarian who likes to do anything that's different from the rest of us. I mean, hell, she's a California native, has never lived anywhere except Yolo County, and supports the Dallas Cowboys just because she knows it'll piss me off (I of course am a loyal 49ers fan. Yeah, yeah, I know they're in the bottom of the cellar and it's the 1970s all over again. They'll come back eventually).
We were settling in to watch the game, when all of a sudden, the screen went haywire. Great, something's wrong with the reception... but just minutes later, the news came through that it was an earthquake. I got a little nervous, and decided to call home as soon as I could. Luckily, no one in my family was in any danger. The ironic thing is that I had visited San Francisco shortly before during the summer, and while I was driving across the Bay Bridge, idly wondered what it would be like to have an earthquake strike while I was in the middle of the bridge. Thank God that didn't happen to me, because as it soon became clear, quite a few people were on the bridge at the time, and had died when a section of the upper bridge collapsed onto the lower portion (the upper decks are inbound traffic, while the lower decks carry vehicles out of San Francisco. I felt a little guilty afterwards for even wondering that, but I suppose if it had to happen, it was probably a good time to happen. Most people were either at home, in the bars, or actually at Candlestick (and no, I'll never call it 3Com, Monster Park, or anything else stupid-- no self-respecting Californian would do that. It's the `Stick, baby!) watching the game, and thus the roads were a bit lighter than normal. It could have been worse...
The only person that would have been in trouble was my aunt, who lives in Berkeley. But in 1994, I was definitely a bit worried. Again, I was in D.C. as the Northridge earthquake hit the Los Angeles area. My great-grandmother's house is perched on a hill overlooking Chavez Ravine and isn't in the best condition, and other relatives lived in town, so I was hoping everyone was safe. Luckily no one was hurt and there was no damage, but it was definitely a mess for a long time, with various roads and freeways closed, and buildings damaged.
The area I grew up in in California is relatively safe. No wildfires, floods, mudslides, or earthquakes. But now I live in Los Angeles, and since we've moved here, we've felt quakes quite a few times. There's been about three or four over the last few months, actually, so the possibility of being in a big one looms. Still, maybe I'll get lucky again...
In the meantime, on this anniversary, I'll remember those who lived and died on April 18, 1906, even if I won't be at Lotta's Fountain at 5:13 a.m.
posted by Mr. Sandman | 4:03 PM
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