What Would Herb Caen Say?

SF-remembered-Herb-Caen

It may seem impressive: On this Facebook group alone, my column last week garnered 544 Facebook reactions, 332 comments, 44 shares… You’d almost think that these numbers led to a higher than usual page count for my column this week, factoring in my other promotional efforts on Facebook and Twitter… But that wasn’t the case at all.

Once I started reading the comments on the post in San Francisco Remembered, it was obvious the group members weren’t clicking the link, just sharing their memories and feelings about Herb Caen and how they think he’d view The City today. Had they read the column, though, they’d see that Herb Caen was discussing the same issues we’re dealing with now in the early 1960s. That’s what I meant by “My discoveries may surprise you…”

Whatever. More than anything, I just wanted to get that question out there and see how people would respond.

If you’d like to read the column and see what Herb Caen might actually would have said, click here.

Advertisements

Everything Will Be Illuminated

taxi-top-light-bw-christian-lewis-web

I’m rolling through the Bayview on Jerrold, heading back to the Mission after dropping at Third and Newcomb, when the order goes out over the radio.

“11th and Folsom. Drivers, 11th and Folsom.”

Artur repeats the cross streets for several minutes, his voice becoming increasingly irate.

I grab the mic. “This is 233. I’m by the yard but can probably get there in 10 minutes.”

“Thank you, 233. Go to 320 11th Street.”

Since rush hour is on the make, I figure Rhode Island over Potrero Hill is my best bet. I down-shift and take the inclines with gusto.

Despite making great time, there’s gridlock on Division. And forget about making a right onto 11th at Bryant. So Harrison it is.

After finally getting through the intersection at 11th, I flip a U-ey in front of Slim’s and pull up to the address.

A few minutes later, a guy emerges from the liquor store. He’s on crutches. His clothes are in tatters. There’s a giant cast on his left foot that looks like a kindergartener’s papier-mâché project gone awry. And he’s holding a gas can.

Read the rest here.

[photo by Christian Lewis]

The Freak Show before Pride

castro-pride-taxi-photo-by-douglas-oconnor-web

Every year, it takes me by surprise …

While dropping off Mr. Judy last Wednesday, I notice a scraggly-haired dude and two girls with shaved heads walk past the bar and can’t help but stare. They’re sexually ambiguous and rough around the edges, all tattooed and dressed in black T-shirts, denim and leather. The kind of freaks you don’t really see in San Francisco anymore.

“Look at that,” I say. “Where did they come from?”

“I don’t know,” Judy responds, equally transfixed. “Maybe we should find out where they’re going.”

A short while later, I’m picking up Simone at Lucky 13, tying to make sense of the latest parking restrictions on Market, when I spot some more freaks.

“What’s going on?” I wonder.

“Are you serious with this shit?” Simone asks with a cackle. “It’s Pride. Hello?”

Oh, that’s right.

“This weekend is going to be a shit show,” she says bitterly. “And I have to work.”

“Well, at least they’re enriching the cultural landscape for a few days.”

“Fuck that,” she snaps back. “I need to make some money.”

On Thursday, the streets are filled with people, freaks and non-freaks and everything in between. Anticipation for Pride is like a jungle beat in the distance.

Read the rest here.

[photo  by Douglas O’Connor]

Girl on the Run

National-Taxi-Streak-Christian-Lewis-web

I knew she was going to run.

From the start of the ride, I could tell right away something wasn’t right. But that didn’t prevent me from offering her the same quality service I provide paying customers …

Need a phone charger? Sure.

Oh, you have an Android. Hold on. Let me arrange my cables here …

Warm enough? Yeah, it’s freezing out there tonight. That wind is brutal.

While the Brian Eno in the CD player is most likely not her preferred jam, when accommodating passengers, paying or otherwise, you have to draw the line somewhere. Besides, it’s a perfect night for Eno …

Read the rest here.

[photo by Christian Lewis]

My Kind of Passenger

101-south-christian-lewis-web

It was one of those nights, when you’re out late, chasing ghosts all over The City, even though the streets are as empty as the backseat of your cab, and there’s nothing left to do but follow the faint glow of your headlights and hope for the best, despite knowing you should just head to the yard, pay your gate and call it a night, because at 3:30 a.m., if your luck hasn’t changed for the better, it probably never will…

After one last circle through Union Square, I take Mason down to Market. Waiting for the light at Fifth Street, two Yellow cabs blow past me, toplights blazing. I hit my turn indicator. At least Soma is one neighborhood closer to the Bayview.

Like an apparition, she appears from behind a plume of steam billowing from the grates in the middle of the street. She walks straight towards me.

“You available?” she asks through the half-cracked window.

“Yeah.” I quickly unlock the doors.

“I was going to call an Uber,” she says, once inside. “But… you probably don’t want to hear about that.”

“Where you heading?”

“Redwood City. I’ll have the address for you in a second.”

I hit the meter and head towards the freeway. Guess I was wrong about that whole luck thing.

Read the rest here.

[photo by Christian Lewis]