I would have written sooner, people, but I've been busy making a deal with Mrs. Bernie Madoff ... then I got distracted by Twitter. Isn't Twitter great? I just got a message that reads, "Breakup sucks dick." I don't think I can keep up with that level of eloquence.
Then there are all the obligatory Michael Jackson stories. Another distraction. Why do some of us think that celebrities are immune to mortality anyway? I guess it's because we think that they are a little larger than life.
As was sweet Farrah Fawcett. She did more for the calendar business than Julius Caesar. Farrah was the 1970s -- full of fun, frippery, and flirting. She was the girl next door -- the one who just might let you climb through her bedroom window, if the mood suited her. A symbol of American innocence, she was the girfriend every schoolboy could wish to have. Maybe that's why she fought so hard later to be taken seriously.
If I'd known that Gale Storm lived here in the Bay Area, I might have been tempted to visit her in the convalescent home in Danville. She was 87 when she died this weekend. I recall that as her star faded in the 1960s, she bravely did PSA's on TV about her alcoholism. That takes guts. It shocked a lot of people to see the funny star of "My Little Margie" suddenly being deadly serious, bringing up a topic that makes many queasy. People quietly put down their Tom Collinses on their TV trays for a good three minutes.
Yes, I'm old enough to remember "My Little Margie," one of the few TV shows that was actually named after a song. By the way, Ray Charles did a wonderful version of the tune back in the 1960s.
I always loved Fred Travalena, always marveled at his good-natured way of impersonating show biz icons. He was only 66 when he died in Encino on Sunday.
Death of a Salesman: It's being suggested that a slight blow to the head on an airplane ride may have contributed to the death of the great TV pitchman Billy Mays, who could sell sand to the Bedouins.
A tough weekend to die if you're a celebrity. Not much airtime or space for anything but Michael Jackson. A shame we can't see Billy Mays sell Demerol to Gale Storm on the television in the middle of the night as Fred Travalena does the Moonwalk.
Mr. B
Monday, June 29, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
An Inconvenient Lack of Truth
In late June the students, and faculty at San Francisco's Academy of Art University held a vigil to encourage the North Korean government to release two San Francisco-based journalists who are being held in prison there. You've been hearing and reading about them. The two women, Laura Ling, and Euna Lee, work for Current TV, which has its headquarters down by the ball park. Euna graduated the Academy of Arts University on 2001 with a bachelor of arts degree. These reporters are really adopted hometown gals, and merit support from all of us as San Francisco citizens.
But that doesn't mean that key players in this mess should start getting on the air, and on the blogs to rail against the people in power in Pyongyang. Not yet.
Al Gore, the co-founder of Current TV, is taking a lot of heat for not being more outspoken about the women's incarceration. They were sentenced to 12 years at hard labor for illegally sneaking into the country, and committing "grave crimes" against North Korea. That's a real reporter for you. Most people in North Korea would like to sneak out of the country. A journalist has to finagle a way to get into it. My definition of a reporter is someone who goes out into the rain without an umbrella just to be able to impart what it's like to get wet.
Vice-president Gore is doing the right thing for being circumspect, and not giving interviews about the matter, which is grimly complicated by North Korea's threats to continue nuclear weapons tests, and promises to fire missiles in the direction of Hawaii. Gore has also directed his Current TV staffers not to discuss the case of Euna Lee, and Laura Ling. They have wisely agreed. It's perfectly appropriate for the families of these two women to make public statements. The two husbands of the imprisoned women appeared at the Academy of Art U.'s rally downtown on Post St. This is their certainly their business. Laura's more famous sister, Lisa Ling, apologized earlier to the North Koreans for whatever her sister, and Ms. Lee had done, insisting they hadn't intended any harm. Lisa's language was careful, contrite. She's nobody's fool, though her kid sister may have acted a bit foolishly.
It's a tough premise to demand forgiveness from others. It doesn't work. Lisa Ling understands that, Al Gore knows it, too. It's takes time to allow someone to change his or her mind or allow providence to prevail. One example of this is the case of New York Times reporter David Rohde, who, after seven months, escaped his Taliban captors in Pakistan. The Times had kept the story under wraps, curtailing coverage about Rohde's kidnapping, which took place in Afghanistan. A little bribery may have played a role in his escape, but a big ransom, it seems, was not paid. An armed assault was considered, but then reconsidered. It looks like patience, and restraint may have worked. The rules of the game are changing in this world. Wait a minute. What rules? There is none. The Iranians freed American journalist Roxana Saberi after a lot of publicity was generated. But the North Koreans are not the Iranians. Nor are they the Taliban.
Bill Keller, the executive editor of the N.Y. Times, said, "I was relieved when I talked to David and he said, 'By the way, thank you for not making a public event out of this. We heard the people who kidnapped me were obsessed with my value in the marketplace. If there were a lot of news stories, they would have held me much tighter."
When considering Al Gore, one cannot imagine a more different vice-president than Dick Cheney.
I think it's fair to say that Dick Cheney forgot more than we'll ever know -- about Dick Cheney. I'd like to forget more about Dick Cheney, but he simply won't let anyone forget him just yet. Here's a man who has no sense of the value of remaining quiet. I'm fascinated to learn that his memoir will be released in the spring of 2011 by Simon & Schuster. Don't be surprised to see much of it redacted -- and much of it stolen by Elizabeth Hasselbeck. There's no word on what the title may be for the Cheney memoir. I suggest Disclosures From An Undisclosed Location or ... An Inconvenient Non-Truth.
Ah, but there are times when I certainly wished I'd kept my mouth shut, and let things progress in their own way for awhile. Much trouble could have been avoided, much pain might not have been inflicted.
There's a premium in holding one's tongue sometimes. When I was young and foolish, I'd try to hold other people's tongues, but that got rather messy, and awkward. I hope there's a lesson in all of this. But I doubt if I'd learn it anyway. I'm holding my tongue.
Bruce Bellingham is a columnist for the Northside, and the author of Bellingham by the Bay. Castigate him, nay, give him a tongue-lashing at bruce@northsidesf.com
###
But that doesn't mean that key players in this mess should start getting on the air, and on the blogs to rail against the people in power in Pyongyang. Not yet.
Al Gore, the co-founder of Current TV, is taking a lot of heat for not being more outspoken about the women's incarceration. They were sentenced to 12 years at hard labor for illegally sneaking into the country, and committing "grave crimes" against North Korea. That's a real reporter for you. Most people in North Korea would like to sneak out of the country. A journalist has to finagle a way to get into it. My definition of a reporter is someone who goes out into the rain without an umbrella just to be able to impart what it's like to get wet.
Vice-president Gore is doing the right thing for being circumspect, and not giving interviews about the matter, which is grimly complicated by North Korea's threats to continue nuclear weapons tests, and promises to fire missiles in the direction of Hawaii. Gore has also directed his Current TV staffers not to discuss the case of Euna Lee, and Laura Ling. They have wisely agreed. It's perfectly appropriate for the families of these two women to make public statements. The two husbands of the imprisoned women appeared at the Academy of Art U.'s rally downtown on Post St. This is their certainly their business. Laura's more famous sister, Lisa Ling, apologized earlier to the North Koreans for whatever her sister, and Ms. Lee had done, insisting they hadn't intended any harm. Lisa's language was careful, contrite. She's nobody's fool, though her kid sister may have acted a bit foolishly.
It's a tough premise to demand forgiveness from others. It doesn't work. Lisa Ling understands that, Al Gore knows it, too. It's takes time to allow someone to change his or her mind or allow providence to prevail. One example of this is the case of New York Times reporter David Rohde, who, after seven months, escaped his Taliban captors in Pakistan. The Times had kept the story under wraps, curtailing coverage about Rohde's kidnapping, which took place in Afghanistan. A little bribery may have played a role in his escape, but a big ransom, it seems, was not paid. An armed assault was considered, but then reconsidered. It looks like patience, and restraint may have worked. The rules of the game are changing in this world. Wait a minute. What rules? There is none. The Iranians freed American journalist Roxana Saberi after a lot of publicity was generated. But the North Koreans are not the Iranians. Nor are they the Taliban.
Bill Keller, the executive editor of the N.Y. Times, said, "I was relieved when I talked to David and he said, 'By the way, thank you for not making a public event out of this. We heard the people who kidnapped me were obsessed with my value in the marketplace. If there were a lot of news stories, they would have held me much tighter."
When considering Al Gore, one cannot imagine a more different vice-president than Dick Cheney.
I think it's fair to say that Dick Cheney forgot more than we'll ever know -- about Dick Cheney. I'd like to forget more about Dick Cheney, but he simply won't let anyone forget him just yet. Here's a man who has no sense of the value of remaining quiet. I'm fascinated to learn that his memoir will be released in the spring of 2011 by Simon & Schuster. Don't be surprised to see much of it redacted -- and much of it stolen by Elizabeth Hasselbeck. There's no word on what the title may be for the Cheney memoir. I suggest Disclosures From An Undisclosed Location or ... An Inconvenient Non-Truth.
Ah, but there are times when I certainly wished I'd kept my mouth shut, and let things progress in their own way for awhile. Much trouble could have been avoided, much pain might not have been inflicted.
There's a premium in holding one's tongue sometimes. When I was young and foolish, I'd try to hold other people's tongues, but that got rather messy, and awkward. I hope there's a lesson in all of this. But I doubt if I'd learn it anyway. I'm holding my tongue.
Bruce Bellingham is a columnist for the Northside, and the author of Bellingham by the Bay. Castigate him, nay, give him a tongue-lashing at bruce@northsidesf.com
###
Sunday, June 21, 2009
David Gockley, San Francisco Opera's Boss, Looks Back at a Dazzling Summer Season
As the San Francisco Opera's Summer Season draws to a close, it's being heralded as one of the most successful runs on record for the company.
One of the highlights was the simulcast of Puccini's Tosca at AT&T Park. It drew 27,000 people on June 5. That's four-thousand more than last year's event at the ball park. Beer, hot dogs and arias are compatible after all. Back at the Opera House, there was a mad rush for tickets to all three productions. Tosca, with wonderfully tight, well-crafted performances, and La Traviata, with Anna Netrebko, the most famous soprano in the world, were on their way to being completely sold-out at this writing. Porgy and Bess was a sell-out from the day the box office opened. Tickets were reportedly being scalped at $600.
Back at the Opera House, the ball park crowd was part of the performance. People stood in the house and in the stadium to sing the national anthem.
“Say, there are some pretty good voices here tonight,” marveled the S.F. Opera’s Julia Inouye.
David Gockley, the Opera’s General Director, took the stage and exclaimed, “Play opera!” And the game, according to Puccini, began.
It's Porgy and Bess that holds a special place in Gockley’s heart. The Northside sat down with him to talk about this phenomenally American masterpiece.
Northside: When you were running the Houston Grand Opera, you staged Porgy and Bess as a real opera for the first time. Then you took the show on the road. That's now part of opera history. (The production won Gockley a Tony Award and a Grammy back in 1977). That was the first time you brought Porgy to San Francisco, right?
Gockley: Yes, the point is that we always tried to keep the costs down, working out of Houston, it worked well in smaller, commercial houses, like the Golden Gate Theatre or the Orpheum. But when we later brought that small company to the Opera House, the production was dwarfed. That was also a summer season, directed by Lotfi Mansouri. I remember being frustrated by it. Should we amplify? Should we take take the chorus downstage? But this year, we have fifty choristers, a full orchestra. It's the first time under my aegis there's been a fully operatically-scaled production. But it's a regular opera. We're not trying to double-cast. We have our Porgy, we have our Bess. It's not something being exploited because it has popular songs in it.
Northside: There are those who have complained for years that Gershwin's opera was never taken seriously enough as an opera.
Gockley: What we did was add back the recitative, we added back some music numbers because it had devolved by hat time into a musical with dialogue connecting the music numbers. There was no Buzzard Song, there was no Jazzbo Brown and so on. I think it devolved out of a tour that went to Russia under the stage direction of someone named Ella Gerber. She was the only stage director authorized to direct it. You had to hire Ella Gerber. She had her own musical comedy version of it.
Northside: The Gershwn Estate has complete control over all this, yes? Is that the Strunsky Family here in San Francisco?
Gockley: Yes, the Gershwin Estate does have control. The Strunskys represent the Ira Gershwin side. There's also a group that represents the George side. They were eager to license the piece as much as possible. I guess it was easier to license to a cut-down version than a full opera. The first hurdle we had was to get Jack O'Brien engaged as director. We had to start from scratch. (O'Brien has won three Tony Awards, nominated for seven more, and won five Drama Desk Awards.)
Northside: Where do you find the parts of the opera that have been set aside for years?
Gockley: The person who did a lot of that detail work is John DeMain, who is here. (He served as Music Director and Principal Conductor for the Houston Grand Opera for eighteen years.) He was the conductor on the 1976 version in Houston. I think he went to the Library of Congress where a lot of Gershwin materials are stored.
Northside: You hired the great Anna Netrebko to sing in La Traviata this season. Do you have to sacrifice a part of your budget in order to acquire a superstar like that?
Gockley: We stick to a top fee. The gossip is that it's $15,000 per performance. To go back to Lily Pons in the 1940s, she was getting 5-thousand then. And Merola was paying it. It's interesting that the singers of that era got much more of a percentage of the budget than they do today -- with the unionized orchestras, the unionized stagehands, the choruses, the extensiveness of the physical productions and all that now. They (the star singers) get paid more when they do a concert. A typical Renée Fleming concert fee -- especially in Europe where she's more of a box office draw than she is here -- and, according to gossip, is more like $75,000. So doing a string of concerts is much more lucrative. We have to go up against that when we're trying to get people to be here for five weeks to do seven performances. Five weeks, seven performances. Seven times fifteen. Do the math.
Northside: What are you working on next? How far do you have to plan in advance?
Gockley: Well, yesterday we were talking about the 2015 season.
Northside: Really? How optimistic.
Gockley: We were talking about Meistersinger, we were talking about Trojans, we were talking Die Frau Ohne Schatten, we were also talking about the more popular pieces. We're considering new commissions. We announced three new commissions in January, and they are chugging along.
Northside: Do you worry about the composers of new works not being able to make their deadlines? Does that sort of thing keep you awake at night?
Gockley: The aches and pains of being my age are the things that keep me awake at night. I don't worry too much. I just get up, do my best.
Northside: Did you ever have a career disaster, one that still hurts to this day?
Gockley: Yes, I suppose I have. A Quiet Place by Leonard Bernstein. A wouldn't call it an out-and-out disaster -- more of a stinging disappointment. It's a serious, worthy piece. As you know, Michael Tilson Thomas does a part of it in his opening concert every year at Carnegie Hall. But it was not what the Houston public was looking for, the ones who love West Side Story. You see, the first line of A Quiet Place is "Merry Christmas to you, too, asshole."
Northside: Not so quiet. And it's downhill from there, right? Is Candide also pushing the audience too much?
Gockley: Candide, yes, we did that. It didn't make much of an impression. It was when we were still in a three-thousand seat, old, multi-purpose theater in Houston. We didn't have any real big personality people in it. I wouldn't call it a chamber opera but I'd call it it, you know, for a theater with 12-hundred or a thousand seats. Other than that, it just did not have an impact.
Northside: I attended a kick-off, if you will, for the upcoming Opera Ball. (It's the major fundraiser for the Opera's Education Program for the public schools.) Is that the sort of thing that could alienate people during this dreary economic slump?
Gockley: Our purpose in having that event was to remind people that there's a very positive outcome of the Opera Ball, whether it being good times, or very, very challenging times. One might ask, 'Why have something this frivolous as a society Opera Ball?' Well, it's because people come out, put on their dresses, spend that kind of money, and have all that good food because it raises 800-thousand to a million-dollars that is spent exclusively on education.
####
One of the highlights was the simulcast of Puccini's Tosca at AT&T Park. It drew 27,000 people on June 5. That's four-thousand more than last year's event at the ball park. Beer, hot dogs and arias are compatible after all. Back at the Opera House, there was a mad rush for tickets to all three productions. Tosca, with wonderfully tight, well-crafted performances, and La Traviata, with Anna Netrebko, the most famous soprano in the world, were on their way to being completely sold-out at this writing. Porgy and Bess was a sell-out from the day the box office opened. Tickets were reportedly being scalped at $600.
Back at the Opera House, the ball park crowd was part of the performance. People stood in the house and in the stadium to sing the national anthem.
“Say, there are some pretty good voices here tonight,” marveled the S.F. Opera’s Julia Inouye.
David Gockley, the Opera’s General Director, took the stage and exclaimed, “Play opera!” And the game, according to Puccini, began.
It's Porgy and Bess that holds a special place in Gockley’s heart. The Northside sat down with him to talk about this phenomenally American masterpiece.
Northside: When you were running the Houston Grand Opera, you staged Porgy and Bess as a real opera for the first time. Then you took the show on the road. That's now part of opera history. (The production won Gockley a Tony Award and a Grammy back in 1977). That was the first time you brought Porgy to San Francisco, right?
Gockley: Yes, the point is that we always tried to keep the costs down, working out of Houston, it worked well in smaller, commercial houses, like the Golden Gate Theatre or the Orpheum. But when we later brought that small company to the Opera House, the production was dwarfed. That was also a summer season, directed by Lotfi Mansouri. I remember being frustrated by it. Should we amplify? Should we take take the chorus downstage? But this year, we have fifty choristers, a full orchestra. It's the first time under my aegis there's been a fully operatically-scaled production. But it's a regular opera. We're not trying to double-cast. We have our Porgy, we have our Bess. It's not something being exploited because it has popular songs in it.
Northside: There are those who have complained for years that Gershwin's opera was never taken seriously enough as an opera.
Gockley: What we did was add back the recitative, we added back some music numbers because it had devolved by hat time into a musical with dialogue connecting the music numbers. There was no Buzzard Song, there was no Jazzbo Brown and so on. I think it devolved out of a tour that went to Russia under the stage direction of someone named Ella Gerber. She was the only stage director authorized to direct it. You had to hire Ella Gerber. She had her own musical comedy version of it.
Northside: The Gershwn Estate has complete control over all this, yes? Is that the Strunsky Family here in San Francisco?
Gockley: Yes, the Gershwin Estate does have control. The Strunskys represent the Ira Gershwin side. There's also a group that represents the George side. They were eager to license the piece as much as possible. I guess it was easier to license to a cut-down version than a full opera. The first hurdle we had was to get Jack O'Brien engaged as director. We had to start from scratch. (O'Brien has won three Tony Awards, nominated for seven more, and won five Drama Desk Awards.)
Northside: Where do you find the parts of the opera that have been set aside for years?
Gockley: The person who did a lot of that detail work is John DeMain, who is here. (He served as Music Director and Principal Conductor for the Houston Grand Opera for eighteen years.) He was the conductor on the 1976 version in Houston. I think he went to the Library of Congress where a lot of Gershwin materials are stored.
Northside: You hired the great Anna Netrebko to sing in La Traviata this season. Do you have to sacrifice a part of your budget in order to acquire a superstar like that?
Gockley: We stick to a top fee. The gossip is that it's $15,000 per performance. To go back to Lily Pons in the 1940s, she was getting 5-thousand then. And Merola was paying it. It's interesting that the singers of that era got much more of a percentage of the budget than they do today -- with the unionized orchestras, the unionized stagehands, the choruses, the extensiveness of the physical productions and all that now. They (the star singers) get paid more when they do a concert. A typical Renée Fleming concert fee -- especially in Europe where she's more of a box office draw than she is here -- and, according to gossip, is more like $75,000. So doing a string of concerts is much more lucrative. We have to go up against that when we're trying to get people to be here for five weeks to do seven performances. Five weeks, seven performances. Seven times fifteen. Do the math.
Northside: What are you working on next? How far do you have to plan in advance?
Gockley: Well, yesterday we were talking about the 2015 season.
Northside: Really? How optimistic.
Gockley: We were talking about Meistersinger, we were talking about Trojans, we were talking Die Frau Ohne Schatten, we were also talking about the more popular pieces. We're considering new commissions. We announced three new commissions in January, and they are chugging along.
Northside: Do you worry about the composers of new works not being able to make their deadlines? Does that sort of thing keep you awake at night?
Gockley: The aches and pains of being my age are the things that keep me awake at night. I don't worry too much. I just get up, do my best.
Northside: Did you ever have a career disaster, one that still hurts to this day?
Gockley: Yes, I suppose I have. A Quiet Place by Leonard Bernstein. A wouldn't call it an out-and-out disaster -- more of a stinging disappointment. It's a serious, worthy piece. As you know, Michael Tilson Thomas does a part of it in his opening concert every year at Carnegie Hall. But it was not what the Houston public was looking for, the ones who love West Side Story. You see, the first line of A Quiet Place is "Merry Christmas to you, too, asshole."
Northside: Not so quiet. And it's downhill from there, right? Is Candide also pushing the audience too much?
Gockley: Candide, yes, we did that. It didn't make much of an impression. It was when we were still in a three-thousand seat, old, multi-purpose theater in Houston. We didn't have any real big personality people in it. I wouldn't call it a chamber opera but I'd call it it, you know, for a theater with 12-hundred or a thousand seats. Other than that, it just did not have an impact.
Northside: I attended a kick-off, if you will, for the upcoming Opera Ball. (It's the major fundraiser for the Opera's Education Program for the public schools.) Is that the sort of thing that could alienate people during this dreary economic slump?
Gockley: Our purpose in having that event was to remind people that there's a very positive outcome of the Opera Ball, whether it being good times, or very, very challenging times. One might ask, 'Why have something this frivolous as a society Opera Ball?' Well, it's because people come out, put on their dresses, spend that kind of money, and have all that good food because it raises 800-thousand to a million-dollars that is spent exclusively on education.
####
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Bellingham by the Bay, San Francisco Northside, July 2009
Walter Cronkite has been in the news, but, as of this writing Uncle Walter -- the most trusted man in America before Homer Simpson came along -- seemed to be doing all right up there in Cape Cod. When I think of Walter Cronkite, I think of his appearance at Herb Caen Day on June 14, 1996. On Channel 5, Marcia Brandwynne asked me why Walter was there. "Cronkite & Herb go back to WW II when they met in London; Walter was working for what was then called United Press, before it was UPI. Herb was there for the Chronicle." Then Cronkite explained the whole story to the crowd. I was relieved I'd gotten it all right. He marveled about how a whole city could turn out to honor a columnist: "San Francisco didn't need Herb Caen to bring it fame, but he put a frame around its gorgeous and glorious image." When I think of Walter Cronkite, I think about the time he talked to Michael Dixon and me about his book on sailing. I also think about how my lust for spare ribs & champagne on my 12th birthday kept me home sick from grade school the next day. That's how, on Nov. 22, 1963, I watched Walter Cronkite, without his jacket on, break into As the World Turns on CBS live, & announce the shooting of JFK in Dallas. I owe that witness to history to my mother's indulgence & to my youthful penchant for pork & bubbly. "The road to excess leads to the Palace of Wisdom," wrote the poet. I wonder. ...
More carnal knowledge: Morgan Hamm & Drew Stevenson, who run the deli in Nob Hill's Le Beau Grocery on Clay & Leavenworth, famed for their Friday Fried Chicken, have become local stars. The gals gush over them, the guys hover about to pose probing questions about Thuringer & other meaty matters. My grandmother used to say, "Lips that have touched head cheese shall never touch mine." She had that message embroidered in a frame, hanging in the kitchen. Nah, Nana never said that. Sorry. Now I owe an apology to animal rights advocates for freely discussing all this anti-veggie behavior. But, PETA, let me ask you: Do you really want a president who wouldn't harm a fly? ...
After 35 years or so, Van Morrison, who's been living in Ireland & England, is moving back to the Bay Area, Mill Valley, actually, where his daughter, songstress Shana, lives. She acquired her musical education in her grandparents record store in Fairfax. "Van wants to lie low and cool out for three or four years," says his old friend, Myles O'Reilly. "Mill Valley is the right place to do it." In the old days, Van & his band used to show up unannounced at small clubs all over Marin & San Francisco. Of course, most of those clubs, such as, The Lion's Share, Keystone Korner & The Boarding House, are gone now. For the first time in 13 years, Myles did not have a Bloomsday celebration last month at his pub & restaurant at 622 Green St. "We thought we'd give it a rest this year," says his companion, Chiching Herlihy. No worries. James Joyce is always in attendance in the pub -- in the mural with the other Irish writers on the wall. Every day is Bloomsday at O'Reilly's. ...
A big turnout at the Washington Square Bar & Grill on June 20 to honor Linda Fimrite, who was the popular hostess there for six years. Linda, who was married to the wonderful writer, Ron Fimrite, had been fighting cancer. She died on May 26 at the age of 72. She was famous and loved by many through her years as a painter, a publicist & a political consultant. Linda loved to tell stories about her time working on Sen. Eugene McCarthy's presidential campaign in 1968. Linda also worked on John Tunney's U.S. Senate campaign. She also didn't mind saying that she delighted in seeing herself described as "the gorgeous Linda Fimrite" by P.J. Corkery and, later, in my column in the Examiner. It became a bit of a tradition. Linda Fimrite was indeed gorgeous, both inside & out. ... Another loss to the neighborhood: Two hundred people crowded into MoMo's near the ball park on June 11 to bid a farewell to Leslie Asche, the irrepressible server at Momo's & the Washington Square Bar & Grill. Leslie, a voracious reader & astute interpreter of human nature, died on May 1 after a brief illness at the age of 62. No quicker nor saltier wit than Leslie's. It was a bit unsettling when Jim Schock, the author & broadcaster, suffered a seizure at the bar during the wake for Leslie, and had to be trundled away by ambulance. But Jim's all right. The doctors declared his condition as indefatigable & sent him home. ... Speaking of ambulances, Oscar Levant's favorite conveyance, among the fees that are skyrocketing in order to live in San Francisco is the fare for riding in a city ambulance. It will rise from about $1000 to $1500. That's one-way. I might have to go back to taking taxicabs. ...
The veteran actress Diane Baker, who’s in charge of the acting department at the Academy of Art University, is promoting the 50th Anniversary DVD Edition of The Diary of Anne Frank. Ms. Baker played Anne’s sister, Margot, when Ms. Baker was 19 years old. “Please don’t tell me that movie was made fifty years ago,” laments Carole Vernier. “I can vividly remember seeing the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam when I was a kid.” I guess it’s best we not forget. … "I'm not going to let Doctor Sorrow operate on me today," avows Sharon Anderson. “I wish I'd said it, but Tom Waits did. He said everything good that Bob Dylan didn't.” … Perry’s on Union St. is observing its 40th anniversary this year. Dr. Harvey Caplan, a Perry’s regular, just observed his 70th anniversary. Harvey’s a rare fellow -- a scholar, a musician, and a very convivial, compassionate physician. No Doctor Sorrow is he. … Stu Smith describes Connie Champagne as "San Francisco musical royalty." She's to be forgiven for living in Los Angeles. She's still part of the local fabric of this town. And such fabric, I'm tellin ya, dollink, just touch it. Connie sings Judy Garland better than Judy Garland. Connie's back in town, boys, performing Songs to Make You Gay at the New Conservatory Theatre, 25 Van Ness, from July 9 through August 1. …
A new study shows that a regular toilet plunger when properly used is just as effective as traditional CPR in saving a heart attack victim. Yes, a toilet plunger. “Unfortunately,” observes Norm Goldblatt, “most health plans won't cover it. Too expensive. Do you KNOW what a plumber charges these days?” …
Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay, published by Council Oak Books. He’s not about to let Dr. Sorrow operate on him: bruce@northsidesf.com
More carnal knowledge: Morgan Hamm & Drew Stevenson, who run the deli in Nob Hill's Le Beau Grocery on Clay & Leavenworth, famed for their Friday Fried Chicken, have become local stars. The gals gush over them, the guys hover about to pose probing questions about Thuringer & other meaty matters. My grandmother used to say, "Lips that have touched head cheese shall never touch mine." She had that message embroidered in a frame, hanging in the kitchen. Nah, Nana never said that. Sorry. Now I owe an apology to animal rights advocates for freely discussing all this anti-veggie behavior. But, PETA, let me ask you: Do you really want a president who wouldn't harm a fly? ...
After 35 years or so, Van Morrison, who's been living in Ireland & England, is moving back to the Bay Area, Mill Valley, actually, where his daughter, songstress Shana, lives. She acquired her musical education in her grandparents record store in Fairfax. "Van wants to lie low and cool out for three or four years," says his old friend, Myles O'Reilly. "Mill Valley is the right place to do it." In the old days, Van & his band used to show up unannounced at small clubs all over Marin & San Francisco. Of course, most of those clubs, such as, The Lion's Share, Keystone Korner & The Boarding House, are gone now. For the first time in 13 years, Myles did not have a Bloomsday celebration last month at his pub & restaurant at 622 Green St. "We thought we'd give it a rest this year," says his companion, Chiching Herlihy. No worries. James Joyce is always in attendance in the pub -- in the mural with the other Irish writers on the wall. Every day is Bloomsday at O'Reilly's. ...
A big turnout at the Washington Square Bar & Grill on June 20 to honor Linda Fimrite, who was the popular hostess there for six years. Linda, who was married to the wonderful writer, Ron Fimrite, had been fighting cancer. She died on May 26 at the age of 72. She was famous and loved by many through her years as a painter, a publicist & a political consultant. Linda loved to tell stories about her time working on Sen. Eugene McCarthy's presidential campaign in 1968. Linda also worked on John Tunney's U.S. Senate campaign. She also didn't mind saying that she delighted in seeing herself described as "the gorgeous Linda Fimrite" by P.J. Corkery and, later, in my column in the Examiner. It became a bit of a tradition. Linda Fimrite was indeed gorgeous, both inside & out. ... Another loss to the neighborhood: Two hundred people crowded into MoMo's near the ball park on June 11 to bid a farewell to Leslie Asche, the irrepressible server at Momo's & the Washington Square Bar & Grill. Leslie, a voracious reader & astute interpreter of human nature, died on May 1 after a brief illness at the age of 62. No quicker nor saltier wit than Leslie's. It was a bit unsettling when Jim Schock, the author & broadcaster, suffered a seizure at the bar during the wake for Leslie, and had to be trundled away by ambulance. But Jim's all right. The doctors declared his condition as indefatigable & sent him home. ... Speaking of ambulances, Oscar Levant's favorite conveyance, among the fees that are skyrocketing in order to live in San Francisco is the fare for riding in a city ambulance. It will rise from about $1000 to $1500. That's one-way. I might have to go back to taking taxicabs. ...
The veteran actress Diane Baker, who’s in charge of the acting department at the Academy of Art University, is promoting the 50th Anniversary DVD Edition of The Diary of Anne Frank. Ms. Baker played Anne’s sister, Margot, when Ms. Baker was 19 years old. “Please don’t tell me that movie was made fifty years ago,” laments Carole Vernier. “I can vividly remember seeing the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam when I was a kid.” I guess it’s best we not forget. … "I'm not going to let Doctor Sorrow operate on me today," avows Sharon Anderson. “I wish I'd said it, but Tom Waits did. He said everything good that Bob Dylan didn't.” … Perry’s on Union St. is observing its 40th anniversary this year. Dr. Harvey Caplan, a Perry’s regular, just observed his 70th anniversary. Harvey’s a rare fellow -- a scholar, a musician, and a very convivial, compassionate physician. No Doctor Sorrow is he. … Stu Smith describes Connie Champagne as "San Francisco musical royalty." She's to be forgiven for living in Los Angeles. She's still part of the local fabric of this town. And such fabric, I'm tellin ya, dollink, just touch it. Connie sings Judy Garland better than Judy Garland. Connie's back in town, boys, performing Songs to Make You Gay at the New Conservatory Theatre, 25 Van Ness, from July 9 through August 1. …
A new study shows that a regular toilet plunger when properly used is just as effective as traditional CPR in saving a heart attack victim. Yes, a toilet plunger. “Unfortunately,” observes Norm Goldblatt, “most health plans won't cover it. Too expensive. Do you KNOW what a plumber charges these days?” …
Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay, published by Council Oak Books. He’s not about to let Dr. Sorrow operate on him: bruce@northsidesf.com
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Let's Go Ahead and Make Promises Anyway
The other day a good friend of mine tried to hoodwink me a bit. I almost fell for it.
"Give me your business card, Bellingham," he demanded. Believe it or not, I have one. Believe it or not, it actually depicts my real business.
"Here 'tis," said I.
"Now I want you to write this. 'I am sorry that I voted for Obama' -- and sign it."
"But I'm not sorry I voted for Obama. Not yet, anyway."
"C'mon," he pressed, "I'm collecting these things from all sorts of people."
"They're actually writing these things?"
"Yup, they sure are."
"He's only been in office for six months."
"They're already sorry."
I am sorry for all kinds of things. I'm sorry that 59-million Americans voted for George Bush in 2004. I am sorry that I did not see the Beatles at Shea Stadium when I had the chance. I am sorry I never met Edgar Rice Burroughs. But no one is inviting me to write anything about that. I wonder why.
I'm sorry I did not vote for Eugene Debs in 2008 -- but he wasn't on the ballot. No point in writing in the name of a dead candidate. I guess a write-in on Election Day is the only form of legal graffiti that’s left to us before the authorities take us away. Just as effective, too. I was accused last month of being a Socialist. That's funny. C'mon. I wouldn't know the difference between being a Socialist and being a socialite.
During the Great Depression, FDR was worried about a Socialist uprising. Funny, though, the collapsed economy seemed to play favorites for the Fascists.
"What did Franco do that was so wrong?" someone asked me not so long ago.
He killed Garcia Lorca for starters. Is that not bad enough? I am sorry about that horrific crime. But, for the fascists, it was very effective.
For what I am really sorry about, in a personal way, I could not fit on a thousand business cards. Fortunately, most of it is no one's business, even the business of my readers, whom I hold in high regard. If you really want to know what I'm sorry about, I'll answer requests individually. But that, as Vernon Alley used to say, makes no never mind.
I still chuckle to myself when I think of the song that Paul Anka wrote for Frank Sinatra, (I Did It) My Way.
"Regrets -- I've had a few -- but, then again, too few to mention."
Sinatra had no regrets? Maybe not. Although I'm sure he found growing up in Hoboken regrettable. He hated it. On the waterfront, you can look out at the Empire State Building across the Hudson River, and dream of reaching the heavens. And Sinatra did. He was a Hoboken Cinderella.
You've heard that old adage, "A picture is worth a thousand words." I have bad news for you. Because of the economic downturn, a picture is now worth about 752 words. That's about as long as this column. All right, already, the picture will come next month. I promise. No column. Just a picture. You won't have to trudge through all these sentences, and get your imaginary boots all muddy. I promise. Hah! You believed me. Aren't you sorry now? No, no, no, you can trust me. I'm an honorable man. We are all honorable men. Sure, I gave up my gig at Bear Stearns to become a writer. Listen. If you can't trust your local columnist, then who can you trust? I promise you, prosperity is just around the corner. There's something to say about promises. In the stock market, they're called "futures." At the Cache Cow Casino, it's called "gaming." It used to be called gambling. Let's face it: we're all gamblers. That's because we want to stay in the game, no matter what happens. Most of us are slaves to hope. The Audacity of Hope. That title paid off big for Obama. It's a good title. I'd be pleased simply to maintain a capacity to hope. I hope.
"Titles are everything," says my sagacious friend, Maurice Kanbar. He should know. He's a marketing genius. Maurice produced a fine film called Hoodwinked. No, it's not about the Bush years. Good title, though.
One of our local writers, Michael Savage, has a knack for coming up with best sellers, too, you know. Like Obama, he's made millions off his books. The titles don't come to my mind immediately, but I think Michael, the former San Francisco Democrat, wrote I Hate Everybody, then he published its sequel, I Hate Nearly Everybody Except Those Who Believe Fox News. I think the latest is called Not To Worry: I'll Hate Everyone You Hate, Just Give Me Their Names. His books are hugely popular.
I'm pleased to know that, in this Depression, people still find money to spend on real literature.
I don't see fortunetellers going out of business. OK, a few. But they could see it coming. I love that scene in the movie Touch of Evil where Marlene Dietrich is preposterously portrayed in a brunette wig (I think it's brunette, could be red. I can't be sure. The movie's in black & white). Dietrich explains chillingly to a bereft Orson Welles why she cannot forecast his fate: "You haff no future," she says, "you used it all up."
When I was a kid, I used to see a folk singer named Tim Hardin at the Café Au Go Go in Greenwich Village. One of his great songs was Don't Make Promises You Can't Keep. Even as a teen, I sensed that he was singing about himself, knowing that he could not make good on his promises, nor could he find the coordinates for his capacity to hope. Tim was a heroin addict, and it seemed that he had the weight of his world on his shoulders. He'd hover over his guitar like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Out of his great despair came his little songs. He left those great songs for us to savor. I’m certainly not sorry that I, as a kid, went to see Tim Hardin in that little café on Bleecker Street with the rickety wooden chairs, and that irrepressible smell of stale beer.
In fact, all these years later, I remain hopelessly hopeful, and regrettably short on regrets.
I could write that down, if you’d like. Here's my business card.
Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay, and writes a regular column, well, as regular as it can be, for this newspaper, as well as the Marina Times & Media People. Yes, they are newspapers. Newspaper. Now, that’s a beautiful word.
###
"Give me your business card, Bellingham," he demanded. Believe it or not, I have one. Believe it or not, it actually depicts my real business.
"Here 'tis," said I.
"Now I want you to write this. 'I am sorry that I voted for Obama' -- and sign it."
"But I'm not sorry I voted for Obama. Not yet, anyway."
"C'mon," he pressed, "I'm collecting these things from all sorts of people."
"They're actually writing these things?"
"Yup, they sure are."
"He's only been in office for six months."
"They're already sorry."
I am sorry for all kinds of things. I'm sorry that 59-million Americans voted for George Bush in 2004. I am sorry that I did not see the Beatles at Shea Stadium when I had the chance. I am sorry I never met Edgar Rice Burroughs. But no one is inviting me to write anything about that. I wonder why.
I'm sorry I did not vote for Eugene Debs in 2008 -- but he wasn't on the ballot. No point in writing in the name of a dead candidate. I guess a write-in on Election Day is the only form of legal graffiti that’s left to us before the authorities take us away. Just as effective, too. I was accused last month of being a Socialist. That's funny. C'mon. I wouldn't know the difference between being a Socialist and being a socialite.
During the Great Depression, FDR was worried about a Socialist uprising. Funny, though, the collapsed economy seemed to play favorites for the Fascists.
"What did Franco do that was so wrong?" someone asked me not so long ago.
He killed Garcia Lorca for starters. Is that not bad enough? I am sorry about that horrific crime. But, for the fascists, it was very effective.
For what I am really sorry about, in a personal way, I could not fit on a thousand business cards. Fortunately, most of it is no one's business, even the business of my readers, whom I hold in high regard. If you really want to know what I'm sorry about, I'll answer requests individually. But that, as Vernon Alley used to say, makes no never mind.
I still chuckle to myself when I think of the song that Paul Anka wrote for Frank Sinatra, (I Did It) My Way.
"Regrets -- I've had a few -- but, then again, too few to mention."
Sinatra had no regrets? Maybe not. Although I'm sure he found growing up in Hoboken regrettable. He hated it. On the waterfront, you can look out at the Empire State Building across the Hudson River, and dream of reaching the heavens. And Sinatra did. He was a Hoboken Cinderella.
You've heard that old adage, "A picture is worth a thousand words." I have bad news for you. Because of the economic downturn, a picture is now worth about 752 words. That's about as long as this column. All right, already, the picture will come next month. I promise. No column. Just a picture. You won't have to trudge through all these sentences, and get your imaginary boots all muddy. I promise. Hah! You believed me. Aren't you sorry now? No, no, no, you can trust me. I'm an honorable man. We are all honorable men. Sure, I gave up my gig at Bear Stearns to become a writer. Listen. If you can't trust your local columnist, then who can you trust? I promise you, prosperity is just around the corner. There's something to say about promises. In the stock market, they're called "futures." At the Cache Cow Casino, it's called "gaming." It used to be called gambling. Let's face it: we're all gamblers. That's because we want to stay in the game, no matter what happens. Most of us are slaves to hope. The Audacity of Hope. That title paid off big for Obama. It's a good title. I'd be pleased simply to maintain a capacity to hope. I hope.
"Titles are everything," says my sagacious friend, Maurice Kanbar. He should know. He's a marketing genius. Maurice produced a fine film called Hoodwinked. No, it's not about the Bush years. Good title, though.
One of our local writers, Michael Savage, has a knack for coming up with best sellers, too, you know. Like Obama, he's made millions off his books. The titles don't come to my mind immediately, but I think Michael, the former San Francisco Democrat, wrote I Hate Everybody, then he published its sequel, I Hate Nearly Everybody Except Those Who Believe Fox News. I think the latest is called Not To Worry: I'll Hate Everyone You Hate, Just Give Me Their Names. His books are hugely popular.
I'm pleased to know that, in this Depression, people still find money to spend on real literature.
I don't see fortunetellers going out of business. OK, a few. But they could see it coming. I love that scene in the movie Touch of Evil where Marlene Dietrich is preposterously portrayed in a brunette wig (I think it's brunette, could be red. I can't be sure. The movie's in black & white). Dietrich explains chillingly to a bereft Orson Welles why she cannot forecast his fate: "You haff no future," she says, "you used it all up."
When I was a kid, I used to see a folk singer named Tim Hardin at the Café Au Go Go in Greenwich Village. One of his great songs was Don't Make Promises You Can't Keep. Even as a teen, I sensed that he was singing about himself, knowing that he could not make good on his promises, nor could he find the coordinates for his capacity to hope. Tim was a heroin addict, and it seemed that he had the weight of his world on his shoulders. He'd hover over his guitar like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Out of his great despair came his little songs. He left those great songs for us to savor. I’m certainly not sorry that I, as a kid, went to see Tim Hardin in that little café on Bleecker Street with the rickety wooden chairs, and that irrepressible smell of stale beer.
In fact, all these years later, I remain hopelessly hopeful, and regrettably short on regrets.
I could write that down, if you’d like. Here's my business card.
Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay, and writes a regular column, well, as regular as it can be, for this newspaper, as well as the Marina Times & Media People. Yes, they are newspapers. Newspaper. Now, that’s a beautiful word.
###
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Final Word, San Francisco Northside, June 2009
I often get queasy by the title of this column, by the finality that's suggested, that is. Susan Dyer Reynolds generously gave me this space to use for awhile. She coined the name of the column. I consider the privilege. Just think of all the spaces we occupy in life. I hope it's never really "The Final Word," anytime soon. I seem to be writing a lot of obits recently.
I don't want to have the last word, not for me, not for anyone else, either. Nope, no last words out of me. Just final words. I guess that would make me the perfect husband. But I have other troubling attributes. I storm out of the room sometimes when I can't find the final words in an argument. I can fly into inexplicable rages. To calm down, I might pace the grimy sidewalks of San Francisco for hours. I also ride the buses. I get into taxicabs, too, if there's enough scratch on me. For some reason, I have not driven a car for 25 years. Cab drivers are often the sage purveyors of the the city's terrain, oracles of the town. The inside of taxi on a chilly night seems to be a safe place. I like occupying the space. Can drivers revive my spirit through their funny stories. The relate fractured tales of hopefulness. I can smile again. Just imagine. They drive cars all day, and all night, tormenting the pavement with rotting rubber, in a relentless search for someone friendly. That's a dangerous premise.
Susan Reynolds, and those cabdrivers remind me what a great town San Francisco is. Where else can you step out of your house, another space I occupy, and find a new adventure? I walked out of my house on Clay Street today. No. I was not storming out, I wasn't inexplicably angry at all. Hardly. I'm heartened by the harsh wind against my face, the beauty of the breeze. I am almost -- dare I say it? -- content. I confess. Sometimes I get worried because I'm not worried.
There's a recklessness in the heart. The recklessness drove me to drive to San Francisco 39 years ago this month. I was 18 years old. Yes, I rolled into this town in my mother's 1964 Comet Caliente, expecting all good things, all things being possible. Lots of things did not turn out to be possible, but that does not preclude the days to come. You see, like today, I may saunter out of the house. That's when all things suddenly seem possible.
Over the decades, I've noticed that people have always come to San Francisco in search of something, possibilities, perhaps.
Just around the corner, here on Nob Hill, there's a demolished car, hood crushed, glass everywhere. Apparently, someone threw herself of himself out of the sixth story window.
I'd impart the details, but that's for another page, Yes, another space to occupy. The car has gone nowhere now. It just occupies a parking space.
Whatever happened, it appears that the possibilities for someone became too remote for them to embrace. How easy it is to drive down the wrong road.
Today I am thinking about the 1964 Comet Caliente -- my Mum loved that car -- pretty splashy automobile for an old dame. Silly me. In truth, she was just a good-looking kid. Funny how we boys will always think of our mother's as immovable relics. Ridiculous, isn't it? I'm thinking about that vehicle that brought me to San Francisco 39 years ago, and about my Mum. She gave me the Caliente. She brought me into the world, too.
I drove my hot car to San Francisco. Yes, all those years ago, looking for possibilities.
Well, what do you know? They're still here.
Bruce Bellingham is the Arts & Entertainment Editor of this newspaper. He's working on a new book. Working title: The Pitchfork People. Call him up, torture him. Have you heard? Torture is all the rage. Bruce's e-mail is bruce@northsidesf.com
###
I don't want to have the last word, not for me, not for anyone else, either. Nope, no last words out of me. Just final words. I guess that would make me the perfect husband. But I have other troubling attributes. I storm out of the room sometimes when I can't find the final words in an argument. I can fly into inexplicable rages. To calm down, I might pace the grimy sidewalks of San Francisco for hours. I also ride the buses. I get into taxicabs, too, if there's enough scratch on me. For some reason, I have not driven a car for 25 years. Cab drivers are often the sage purveyors of the the city's terrain, oracles of the town. The inside of taxi on a chilly night seems to be a safe place. I like occupying the space. Can drivers revive my spirit through their funny stories. The relate fractured tales of hopefulness. I can smile again. Just imagine. They drive cars all day, and all night, tormenting the pavement with rotting rubber, in a relentless search for someone friendly. That's a dangerous premise.
Susan Reynolds, and those cabdrivers remind me what a great town San Francisco is. Where else can you step out of your house, another space I occupy, and find a new adventure? I walked out of my house on Clay Street today. No. I was not storming out, I wasn't inexplicably angry at all. Hardly. I'm heartened by the harsh wind against my face, the beauty of the breeze. I am almost -- dare I say it? -- content. I confess. Sometimes I get worried because I'm not worried.
There's a recklessness in the heart. The recklessness drove me to drive to San Francisco 39 years ago this month. I was 18 years old. Yes, I rolled into this town in my mother's 1964 Comet Caliente, expecting all good things, all things being possible. Lots of things did not turn out to be possible, but that does not preclude the days to come. You see, like today, I may saunter out of the house. That's when all things suddenly seem possible.
Over the decades, I've noticed that people have always come to San Francisco in search of something, possibilities, perhaps.
Just around the corner, here on Nob Hill, there's a demolished car, hood crushed, glass everywhere. Apparently, someone threw herself of himself out of the sixth story window.
I'd impart the details, but that's for another page, Yes, another space to occupy. The car has gone nowhere now. It just occupies a parking space.
Whatever happened, it appears that the possibilities for someone became too remote for them to embrace. How easy it is to drive down the wrong road.
Today I am thinking about the 1964 Comet Caliente -- my Mum loved that car -- pretty splashy automobile for an old dame. Silly me. In truth, she was just a good-looking kid. Funny how we boys will always think of our mother's as immovable relics. Ridiculous, isn't it? I'm thinking about that vehicle that brought me to San Francisco 39 years ago, and about my Mum. She gave me the Caliente. She brought me into the world, too.
I drove my hot car to San Francisco. Yes, all those years ago, looking for possibilities.
Well, what do you know? They're still here.
Bruce Bellingham is the Arts & Entertainment Editor of this newspaper. He's working on a new book. Working title: The Pitchfork People. Call him up, torture him. Have you heard? Torture is all the rage. Bruce's e-mail is bruce@northsidesf.com
###
Calif. Supreme Court Prop 8 Decision Puts Up Red Flags to Local Arts People
Marina Times, San Francisco, June 2009
It was an unusual press release from the San Francisco Convention & Visitors Bureau. As the immediate impact of the California State Supreme Court's decision to uphold Prop 8 was starting to sink in, local arts groups, and civic associations were scrambling to head off an explosive backlash.
"While I am personally disappointed with the California Supreme Court's decision, I encourage all gay and lesbian visitors to experience, and embrace the rich diversity that San Francisco represents," said Joe D'Alessandro, president & CEO of the visitors bureau. "San Francisco has long been at the forefront of the struggle for LGBT rights and our community continues to welcome all couples and recognize and celebrate all unions, despite this ruling."
Mayor Gavin Newsom was philosophical.
“California, at its best, is a beacon of equal rights and equal opportunities," he said, "If we want to prosper together, we must respect each other. It is up to every single one of us who supports marriage equality to reach out to those who still disagree with our position, and have a personal conversation about why it is so important to treat every Californian equally.”
That language from Mr. Newsom is a little more conciliatory than "whether you like it or not."
Lots of people in the theater community were bracing for trouble last Tuesday night.
Promoters of press screenings for movies, such as Disney's "Up," which showed for a select audience at the Castro Theatre, quickly e-mailed reviewers en masse, assuring them that the show would go on, even if there were a riot in the Castro, similar to the White Night Riots of 1979 after a jury gave Dan White a perceived light sentence for murdering George Moscone, and Harvey Milk.
"San Francisco has a long history of welcoming the gay and lesbian community," said Joie de Vivre Hospitality founder and CEO Chip Conley. "Even as recently as this month, the City was named Best Domestic Destination in the U.S. in the 2009 Gay.com Travel Awards."
Many were not all that surprised by the court's decision to uphold Prop 8. Seemingly contradictory, though, the justices decided to validate 18,000 same sex marriages.
"I am not surprised at all by the decision, " said a rueful John Castanon just before the decision. He's the manager of the popular Florio restaurant on Fillmore Street in Pacific Heights.
"I only hope that my marriage to my partner for life, John P. Carroll, will still be considered valid and legal," Castanon explained.
With the court's decision to retain the legal status of 18,000 same sex marriages, Castanon's marriage is still one for the books, and will remain that way -- whether anyone likes it or not.
###
It was an unusual press release from the San Francisco Convention & Visitors Bureau. As the immediate impact of the California State Supreme Court's decision to uphold Prop 8 was starting to sink in, local arts groups, and civic associations were scrambling to head off an explosive backlash.
"While I am personally disappointed with the California Supreme Court's decision, I encourage all gay and lesbian visitors to experience, and embrace the rich diversity that San Francisco represents," said Joe D'Alessandro, president & CEO of the visitors bureau. "San Francisco has long been at the forefront of the struggle for LGBT rights and our community continues to welcome all couples and recognize and celebrate all unions, despite this ruling."
Mayor Gavin Newsom was philosophical.
“California, at its best, is a beacon of equal rights and equal opportunities," he said, "If we want to prosper together, we must respect each other. It is up to every single one of us who supports marriage equality to reach out to those who still disagree with our position, and have a personal conversation about why it is so important to treat every Californian equally.”
That language from Mr. Newsom is a little more conciliatory than "whether you like it or not."
Lots of people in the theater community were bracing for trouble last Tuesday night.
Promoters of press screenings for movies, such as Disney's "Up," which showed for a select audience at the Castro Theatre, quickly e-mailed reviewers en masse, assuring them that the show would go on, even if there were a riot in the Castro, similar to the White Night Riots of 1979 after a jury gave Dan White a perceived light sentence for murdering George Moscone, and Harvey Milk.
"San Francisco has a long history of welcoming the gay and lesbian community," said Joie de Vivre Hospitality founder and CEO Chip Conley. "Even as recently as this month, the City was named Best Domestic Destination in the U.S. in the 2009 Gay.com Travel Awards."
Many were not all that surprised by the court's decision to uphold Prop 8. Seemingly contradictory, though, the justices decided to validate 18,000 same sex marriages.
"I am not surprised at all by the decision, " said a rueful John Castanon just before the decision. He's the manager of the popular Florio restaurant on Fillmore Street in Pacific Heights.
"I only hope that my marriage to my partner for life, John P. Carroll, will still be considered valid and legal," Castanon explained.
With the court's decision to retain the legal status of 18,000 same sex marriages, Castanon's marriage is still one for the books, and will remain that way -- whether anyone likes it or not.
###
A Big Turn-Out for Brian O'Neill, Already Terribly Missed in the Presidio -- Marina Times, June 2009
Everybody liked Brian O'Neill. If you didn't get to know him, that's a shame. Brian was the Superintendent of the Golden Gate Recreation Area for 23 years. He died on May 13 from troubles that occurred after heart surgery. Brian's presence was unforgettable. He dealt with people in a way that was disarming. One might leave his office, after chatting with him in some earnest way, and consider how grand he was. Then it might occur to you to wonder why you went there in the first place, even if one was armed for debate. That's disarming.
Yes, sometimes you might stride away from the Parade Grounds feeling good about something, after you talked to him. It wasn't all blarney, it seemed very reasonable. Brian personified a certain sort of soul in the Presidio, much like the dedicated men, and women who worked under his aegis. That includes the myriad members of his staff, including the U.S. Park Service.
The walk in his honor was an inspired idea. Brian would have liked this. The gathering was arranged on May 29, with scores of people sauntering with high spirits over Crissy Field. It was a walkabout in his name, on the property that he loved so much. This was Brian's part of the world. It's still his world.
There was a certain artistry to the way he engaged people. He had to tread the treacherous path amid the politics that pervade the Presidio. He navigated that course very well, always conciliatory, but never compromising himself. He was no pushover. To think his amiable way of carrying himself suggested otherwise, well, then, you've made a mistake. Brian was a pro. He stuck to his guns, yet he was skilled, and smart enough to see a diplomatic entrance into a dire disagreement that appeared untenable.
He also had great Irish charm, never taking himself too seriously.
"This job gets a little rough," he told this reporter years ago, "but, make no mistake, I love it."
He also loved the Presidio and all the people in it. That affection will be missed on this windy landscape. One was never sure if Brian was speaking on the record or off the record. He had a knack of making you agree with him, in either case. After a conversation with him, you might think, "Did I just get snowed?" No matter. Brian played all the nuances, and all the ambiguities of local politics with a deft hand.
That walk on Crissy Field in Brian's honor wasn't really a memorial for Brian O'Neill. It was more about a testament to living. He had the decency to take pains to make sure the rest of us are having a good time.
####
Yes, sometimes you might stride away from the Parade Grounds feeling good about something, after you talked to him. It wasn't all blarney, it seemed very reasonable. Brian personified a certain sort of soul in the Presidio, much like the dedicated men, and women who worked under his aegis. That includes the myriad members of his staff, including the U.S. Park Service.
The walk in his honor was an inspired idea. Brian would have liked this. The gathering was arranged on May 29, with scores of people sauntering with high spirits over Crissy Field. It was a walkabout in his name, on the property that he loved so much. This was Brian's part of the world. It's still his world.
There was a certain artistry to the way he engaged people. He had to tread the treacherous path amid the politics that pervade the Presidio. He navigated that course very well, always conciliatory, but never compromising himself. He was no pushover. To think his amiable way of carrying himself suggested otherwise, well, then, you've made a mistake. Brian was a pro. He stuck to his guns, yet he was skilled, and smart enough to see a diplomatic entrance into a dire disagreement that appeared untenable.
He also had great Irish charm, never taking himself too seriously.
"This job gets a little rough," he told this reporter years ago, "but, make no mistake, I love it."
He also loved the Presidio and all the people in it. That affection will be missed on this windy landscape. One was never sure if Brian was speaking on the record or off the record. He had a knack of making you agree with him, in either case. After a conversation with him, you might think, "Did I just get snowed?" No matter. Brian played all the nuances, and all the ambiguities of local politics with a deft hand.
That walk on Crissy Field in Brian's honor wasn't really a memorial for Brian O'Neill. It was more about a testament to living. He had the decency to take pains to make sure the rest of us are having a good time.
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Bellingham by the Bay, San Francisco Northside, June 2009
If you stand on the deck of the USS Pampanito, the World War II submarine at San Francisco's Pier 45, and don't get a lump in your throat, nor a tear in your eye during the Memorial Day ceremony for the Lost Sailors, then I'd think your doctor would be hard-pressed to find your heart. There's a gentleness to the tide to undulates under the feet as high tide came in that Monday afternoon. It belies the racket that wartime must have created. On Memorial Day, there was only that sweet sort of battering against the hull of the boat, that encourages you to hold onto the ropes. just to avoid a bruise on the knees. No such gentleness in those days, just 65 years ago. The only turbulence these days, it seems, might be found in the struggle to get clam chowder ahead of the crowd at Alioto's. It's astonishing to think this magnificent steel machine, called a boat, could actually do all the things she did, that is, to dive below the waves, fire large underwater missiles, and save 73 war prisoners who were floating in the unforgiving Pacific Ocean for two days or so. One sailor died later died on board. They used to call San Francisco the headquarters for the Pacific Theater, during World War II. Some theatre. There's no business like show business, and those sailors got lost so we can stay in business. ...
Meanwhile the Governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger, says he'd like to sell San Quentin to raise a little money for our languishing Golden State. And why not? Mickey Rooney, who's running for state treasurer (Racing Form jammed in his pocket), might exclaim, "Hey, let's paint up that old state prison, and put on a show!" ... Sharon Anderson, a close friend of this newspaper, and a damned good guitar player, is putting on her own show right now, coming to a town near us. It's called Oblivion Newton-John. That's all right. I'll hold her jacket for her. My oblivion has already arrived. ... More show biz: Michael Dixon, the host of the KCBS Radio News Magazine in the old days, winged into town this Memorial Day weekend to collect his Doctorate of Divinity from the S.F. Theological Union. Michael says he was amused, and touched, when the right reverend Lewis Rambo, bestowed the honor on him, saying, "You are now a physician of souls." Does a doctor of divinity do house calls? I asked Michael. Mr. Dixon -- sorry, Doctor Dixon -- has too much class to respond to something that declassé. ... Oh, speaking of painting things, then putting on a show, the Great Star Theatre, that indomitable fixture in Chinatown at 636 Jackson Street, is getting a new lease on life. At least a new lease. They still have classical Chinese opera there four times a year. The young, ambitious George Kaskanlian, and his partner, Kenny Montero, have taken out a 10-year lease on the place. This is what they have in mind for the opening this month: They booked the Primitive Screwheads, who are happy to splash you with fake blood while you're seated in the audience. Tickets are 20-bucks per person. You'd think for that money, they'd provide real blood. "Some people wear white just for the experience, then have dinner afterwards." Great thing about Chinatown: lots of good restaurants, and lots of good dry cleaners. Slain in the spirit, I suppose. ... If you wander up the street to North Beach, you’ll notice some good things going on. One is the restored, and wonderful Washington Square Bar & Grill. Under the guidance of Susan & Liam Tiernan, the place has been returned to good music, and lots of good cheer. Liam by the way, is a terrific musician, and has the good sense to hire other good players, such as Tim Hockenberry, Terry Disley, Mike Greensill, and Michael Udelson. Michael, the latter, played piano at the Four Seasons Hotel for many seasons. They weren’t seasoned enough to keep him. But The Square has him now. … By the by, there’s been talk about Frank McCourt, the eldest brother of Michael McCourt, who’s pouring drinks for the Tiernans. Yes, Frank’s been sick with cancer, but the masterful doctors in New York are taking great care of him, he’s doing quite all right at age 78. But more news on the Mighty McCourts, Malachy, another impresario of storytelling, broke his leg. I’d likely say to Malachy, “that’s what you get for kicking your friends,” but I’ll wait until he feels better before he thinks that’s funny. …
The San Francisco Film Festival was a great success. It’s always great to the see the local cognescenti kicking about. I once said to Phil Kaufman,” I liked that film you made about the Marquis de Sade.” Phil shot back: “Yes, The Marquis de Sade knew how to get the ball rolling." I’ll say. … There’s no way I may get away without saying something nice about Kim Nalley. Kim checks in from New York City to say that she pays homage to one her many heroes, Nina Simone, at the Great American Music Hall, 855 O’Farrell, June 6. One of the many endearing things about Kim Nalley is that she embraces a panoply of hero figues for her. Another is Billie Holiday. Kim’s reworking her wonderful show about Lady Day at the Rrazz Room, Aug. 20 – 23. …
Catch up on the wry: Joyce Maynard, the Marin-based writer who spilled the beans about her intimate friendship with the hyper-reclusive author, J.D. Salinger, is currently dating Steve Little, the overnight weekend anchor at KCBS. If you think I'm going to make a joke about overnight weekends, well, forget it. The New York Times once described Maynard as "the Lolita of all Lolitas." By all accounts, Joyce & Steve make a very happy couple. This is their little secret. ...
Isn’t it fun to engage in a little cheap gossip? Yeah, I know, a certain sweet salaciousness to it. What can I tell you? We do get our feet muddy on occasion, even in this high-toned column. All suggestions are welcome at bruce@northsidesf.com ...
Meanwhile the Governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger, says he'd like to sell San Quentin to raise a little money for our languishing Golden State. And why not? Mickey Rooney, who's running for state treasurer (Racing Form jammed in his pocket), might exclaim, "Hey, let's paint up that old state prison, and put on a show!" ... Sharon Anderson, a close friend of this newspaper, and a damned good guitar player, is putting on her own show right now, coming to a town near us. It's called Oblivion Newton-John. That's all right. I'll hold her jacket for her. My oblivion has already arrived. ... More show biz: Michael Dixon, the host of the KCBS Radio News Magazine in the old days, winged into town this Memorial Day weekend to collect his Doctorate of Divinity from the S.F. Theological Union. Michael says he was amused, and touched, when the right reverend Lewis Rambo, bestowed the honor on him, saying, "You are now a physician of souls." Does a doctor of divinity do house calls? I asked Michael. Mr. Dixon -- sorry, Doctor Dixon -- has too much class to respond to something that declassé. ... Oh, speaking of painting things, then putting on a show, the Great Star Theatre, that indomitable fixture in Chinatown at 636 Jackson Street, is getting a new lease on life. At least a new lease. They still have classical Chinese opera there four times a year. The young, ambitious George Kaskanlian, and his partner, Kenny Montero, have taken out a 10-year lease on the place. This is what they have in mind for the opening this month: They booked the Primitive Screwheads, who are happy to splash you with fake blood while you're seated in the audience. Tickets are 20-bucks per person. You'd think for that money, they'd provide real blood. "Some people wear white just for the experience, then have dinner afterwards." Great thing about Chinatown: lots of good restaurants, and lots of good dry cleaners. Slain in the spirit, I suppose. ... If you wander up the street to North Beach, you’ll notice some good things going on. One is the restored, and wonderful Washington Square Bar & Grill. Under the guidance of Susan & Liam Tiernan, the place has been returned to good music, and lots of good cheer. Liam by the way, is a terrific musician, and has the good sense to hire other good players, such as Tim Hockenberry, Terry Disley, Mike Greensill, and Michael Udelson. Michael, the latter, played piano at the Four Seasons Hotel for many seasons. They weren’t seasoned enough to keep him. But The Square has him now. … By the by, there’s been talk about Frank McCourt, the eldest brother of Michael McCourt, who’s pouring drinks for the Tiernans. Yes, Frank’s been sick with cancer, but the masterful doctors in New York are taking great care of him, he’s doing quite all right at age 78. But more news on the Mighty McCourts, Malachy, another impresario of storytelling, broke his leg. I’d likely say to Malachy, “that’s what you get for kicking your friends,” but I’ll wait until he feels better before he thinks that’s funny. …
The San Francisco Film Festival was a great success. It’s always great to the see the local cognescenti kicking about. I once said to Phil Kaufman,” I liked that film you made about the Marquis de Sade.” Phil shot back: “Yes, The Marquis de Sade knew how to get the ball rolling." I’ll say. … There’s no way I may get away without saying something nice about Kim Nalley. Kim checks in from New York City to say that she pays homage to one her many heroes, Nina Simone, at the Great American Music Hall, 855 O’Farrell, June 6. One of the many endearing things about Kim Nalley is that she embraces a panoply of hero figues for her. Another is Billie Holiday. Kim’s reworking her wonderful show about Lady Day at the Rrazz Room, Aug. 20 – 23. …
Catch up on the wry: Joyce Maynard, the Marin-based writer who spilled the beans about her intimate friendship with the hyper-reclusive author, J.D. Salinger, is currently dating Steve Little, the overnight weekend anchor at KCBS. If you think I'm going to make a joke about overnight weekends, well, forget it. The New York Times once described Maynard as "the Lolita of all Lolitas." By all accounts, Joyce & Steve make a very happy couple. This is their little secret. ...
Isn’t it fun to engage in a little cheap gossip? Yeah, I know, a certain sweet salaciousness to it. What can I tell you? We do get our feet muddy on occasion, even in this high-toned column. All suggestions are welcome at bruce@northsidesf.com ...
No Rest for the Disgruntled ... Marina Times -- June 2009
If anyone is out of sorts, or worried about the North Koreans shooting missiles at us, I suggest a walk by the water. There one may find a certain solace in the salty, rambunctious scent of the sea water. It must be the sound of the lapping of the waves that provides a lullaby for all of us -- even for someone like me, who's far too old for lullabies.
Come to think of it, I don't think I ever heard any lullabies as a child. I don't recall my Mum hovering over me, singing melodies by Brahms. I doubt if Brahms ever heard them either. That's why he had to write them.
But if we are lulled into a sense of insecurity, then I guess the fault lies in us, not in the stars. Not even those splendid stars that we see over San Francisco Bay as we walk by Crissy Field. Sailors used the stars for navigation. Perhaps we might go back to the stars for a sense of guidance. There's a rhythm to the waves that dash up to beat the rocks down here near St. Francis Yacht Club.
It's funny how things that you love may often erode what we thought were solid. That relentless punch of the salt water breaks us down sometimes. It's a quiet sort of murder. We don't feel a thing. There are so many pleasurable, and painless things about San Francisco. No wonder the rest of the country hates us.
And there's the lullaby of the sea, the Bay's best briny that briny can provide.
Just a moment. This is not a gloomy dispatch. Not at all. There are those stars on this very early Tuesday morning. The dazzle thorough the mist. And it's early. The sun's not up yet. The stars are still visible. They never seem to go to sleep. I think I know why the stars are there. Just so I may look up once in awhile, and stop staring at my shoes. If you can call these sneakers shoes.
You see, when you look down, then we might look up, again, and then find a middle ground. The landscape that is right here in front of us. That's the ground that people were walking on this Memorial Day weekend, shivering in their seersucker suits, poor things. For all of the San Francisco chilliness, people looked happy, not so disgruntled at all. On the contrary. I notice these days that people are showing more affection for each other, they cling to themselves in a way I had not noticed before. People will always be in love. It's reassuring. I think it's a good time to be in love. I guess there was never a bad time to be in love.
I now recall a story from my music school days. Brahms, yes the cat famous for the lullabies, was in love with Clara Schumann. I guess that was a bad time for him to be in love because she would not return it, whatever that means. Like a rejected letter to the post office. But he loved her, he did, loved her fiercely, and decently. Here's the trouble: she was still married to her dead husband, the great Robert Schumann. He was a wonderful artist, and he drowned himself in a river.
The great composer of lullabies, Johannes Brahms, never got a good night's sleep after that.
I'll bet he was never sorry about being in love, even with the recalcitrant Clara. As a great composer, he did most of his work while staring out the window before dawn. I'll bet he'd catch a glimpse at the stars, and maybe take a walk by the water. You see, that's the real task we are left with, to come down here to the Marina Green on a blustery morning like this, and listen to the melody of the waves. There's a quiet turbulence to the motion of the water.
Now, that's a real lullaby.
Bruce Bellingham is the Arts & Entertainment Editor for the SF Northside. When he's not meandering near the shoreline, he's adding stories to his book, "The Pitchfork People." Torment him at bruce@northsidesf.com or at 415-346-2593
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Come to think of it, I don't think I ever heard any lullabies as a child. I don't recall my Mum hovering over me, singing melodies by Brahms. I doubt if Brahms ever heard them either. That's why he had to write them.
But if we are lulled into a sense of insecurity, then I guess the fault lies in us, not in the stars. Not even those splendid stars that we see over San Francisco Bay as we walk by Crissy Field. Sailors used the stars for navigation. Perhaps we might go back to the stars for a sense of guidance. There's a rhythm to the waves that dash up to beat the rocks down here near St. Francis Yacht Club.
It's funny how things that you love may often erode what we thought were solid. That relentless punch of the salt water breaks us down sometimes. It's a quiet sort of murder. We don't feel a thing. There are so many pleasurable, and painless things about San Francisco. No wonder the rest of the country hates us.
And there's the lullaby of the sea, the Bay's best briny that briny can provide.
Just a moment. This is not a gloomy dispatch. Not at all. There are those stars on this very early Tuesday morning. The dazzle thorough the mist. And it's early. The sun's not up yet. The stars are still visible. They never seem to go to sleep. I think I know why the stars are there. Just so I may look up once in awhile, and stop staring at my shoes. If you can call these sneakers shoes.
You see, when you look down, then we might look up, again, and then find a middle ground. The landscape that is right here in front of us. That's the ground that people were walking on this Memorial Day weekend, shivering in their seersucker suits, poor things. For all of the San Francisco chilliness, people looked happy, not so disgruntled at all. On the contrary. I notice these days that people are showing more affection for each other, they cling to themselves in a way I had not noticed before. People will always be in love. It's reassuring. I think it's a good time to be in love. I guess there was never a bad time to be in love.
I now recall a story from my music school days. Brahms, yes the cat famous for the lullabies, was in love with Clara Schumann. I guess that was a bad time for him to be in love because she would not return it, whatever that means. Like a rejected letter to the post office. But he loved her, he did, loved her fiercely, and decently. Here's the trouble: she was still married to her dead husband, the great Robert Schumann. He was a wonderful artist, and he drowned himself in a river.
The great composer of lullabies, Johannes Brahms, never got a good night's sleep after that.
I'll bet he was never sorry about being in love, even with the recalcitrant Clara. As a great composer, he did most of his work while staring out the window before dawn. I'll bet he'd catch a glimpse at the stars, and maybe take a walk by the water. You see, that's the real task we are left with, to come down here to the Marina Green on a blustery morning like this, and listen to the melody of the waves. There's a quiet turbulence to the motion of the water.
Now, that's a real lullaby.
Bruce Bellingham is the Arts & Entertainment Editor for the SF Northside. When he's not meandering near the shoreline, he's adding stories to his book, "The Pitchfork People." Torment him at bruce@northsidesf.com or at 415-346-2593
###
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