|The view from my writer's garret|
I almost had to leave this city when rents skyrocketed. Luckily, with the patient help of agent Michelle Bouchet, I fell in love with San Francisco in 1977, a young woman in search of something to live for after an unexpected tragedy, and have been in love ever since. San Francisco, you were the first beautiful thing I found in that difficult time. More days than not, you take my breath away.
Our little redwood box of a house was built in 1945, and served as the destination of choice for many African-American families who earned a middle-class living in the shipyards during the war. It stayed at least 50% African American until the new millenium, when the pressure for housing hit made this neighborhood the most culturally diverse in San Francisco, welcoming Asian, Latino, and Caucasians alike. Without much effort aside from day-to-day respect and courtesy, we all get along. The neighborhood had a few tough years, so everyone here is interested in keeping it safe for the kids, safe for the elderly, safe for everyone.
|See all the Hopperesque warm light?|
Note: After composing this post, I learned there was a murder just a few blocks up the street. Just a guy getting off the M-car, shot by another guy from the same train. I think we'll rally, not retreat from each other. At least, I hope so!