It was New Year's Day at Perry's on Union Street in San Francisco.
The place was jammed, four-deep at the bar, all eyes fixed on the TV
sets and the football game. Very little could distract the fans,
nursing their hangovers, and watching the score. However, one couple
at the end of the bar was oblivious to football, and the world in
general. Perhaps they'd been up all night, New Year's Eve, because
they were sleepily hanging all over each other for support, giggling
a bit, smooching a bit, drinking a bit.
She was younger than he -- by at least a decade. That's not an
unusual sight at Perry's, one of the last grown-up saloons in the
vicinity.
She turned to the fellow at the next bar stool, and asked if he'd
watch their seats. She explained they had an errand to run.
Twenty minutes passed, and the gal, all aglow, rushed into Perry's
and announced, "Hey, everyone! I'm engaged! Look at my ring."
For a moment, eyes were averted from the television sets. She took
her ring to every person at every table to allow an inspection.
"It's 7 karats," she gushed. "It cost seventy-thousand dollars!"
And so it did.
In short order, a fellow from Simayof jewelers next door came to the
bar, and cleared up a little paperwork, and with the invocation of
two credit cards, the ring was hers.
No, I am not going to drag this sweet story into my customary mire. I
will not mention blood diamonds, Bloody Marys, bluebloods, the bloody
homeless, the deepening, and widening gulf that separates the haves,
and the have-nots. No raining on the leisure-class parade from me. No
crepe-hanging. No sullying the sentiment. No snippy asides. Nope.
Just good wishes, sweet, and salubrious wishes for this fortunate
couple. I'm leaving a tender moment alone. That's right.
Well ... maybe just a few words about my friend, Sascha, who recently
rolled back into San Francisco to get additional treatments for
cancer, and is living through the kindness of strangers. Some of them
include Sister Anne Bertain at St. Dominic's Church. She gives Sascha
credits for food. When she can, Sascha returns with a bit of cash.
It's hard to imagine that this beautiful young woman has to traverse
the streets of this rich city, and hustle a meal, and a scare up a
place to sleep. Worst of all, she's been treated badly by people in
programs that are allegedly designed to help people in trouble. And
Sascha's in trouble. She has no drug or alcohol problem; she's just
lost, for the time being, really lost. I know what that feels like.
Most of do at one time or another.
She's certainly lost weight-- 126 pounds -- that's getting into
Nicole Richie territory.
Sascha got a real runaround from the Social Security people, was told
to take a hike at Glide Memorial's drop-in center. That surprised me
because they helped get me into the hospital in 2005. Maybe things
have worsened. Maybe it was just an off-day. When you're broke, you
are at the mercy of Providence. Someone suggested she go on
craigslist, and sell her body. She doesn't have the stomach for that.
"I get treated like dog dirt," Sascha says demurely. Yes, she was
raised in a very polite home. But politeness, keeping up appearances,
and silence were the order of the day in her house. It hasn't worked
out for Sascha. Not yet. The right-wing likes to snarl witlessly
about "San Francisco Values." To be accurate, the real values are
practiced by Sister Anne Bertain. Real values are demonstrated by
Fern Schneiderman, a social worker at St. Mary's Hospital, who has
extended herself time and again to Sascha. There are many others like
these two women, who go mostly unacknowledged.
Yes, there are 7-karat diamonds in Cow Hollow, and I love splashy,
romantic stories like that. But Sascha, curiously not embittered
about things, is brushing off the dirt, picking herself up, and even
encountering a few jewels of her own along the way.
Good luck, Sascha.
Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham by the Bay. He's
resolved that this year he will complete his second book, with the
working title of The Angina Dialogues. His e-mail is
bruce@brucebellingham.com
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