Is This the City with the Hills?

from the S.F. Marina Times, May 2008

Whoever wins the American presidential election in November, it's clear what the voters in this country do not want, observed the religion reporter for Deutsche Welle television. "They don't want more downhill."
It's certainly been downhill for awhile. This fellow was talking about the "general malaise" in the United States. As the Pope's recent trip to the U.S. was greeted enthusiastically, he said, "It was touching to see Americans open their hearts, but Americans can greet celebrities better than anyone else."
Yes, sure. And no one can surpass the Catholic Church when it comes to a performance.
Amid the scornful tedium of the presidential contest, many of us looked away briefly from the downhill slide that this country faces, and found a reason to believe that springtime is here, cherry blossoms and all. Even I noticed the cherry blossoms in bloom on Union Street atop Russian Hill.
Spring is here. Why doesn't my heart go dancing?
My dear friend's mom called her from home in Michigan the other day and asked, "You live in Los Angeles, right? But you visit someone in San Francisco, right? Is San Francisco the one with the hills?"
Yes, San Francisco is the place with the high places and the high rents. You can say that I've been on a high ever since I moved here, 38 years ago. Of course, living on a hill doesn't protect us from an occasional headlong plunge into the abyss. It doesn't take us too long to decide that we don't want more downhill. But the itinerary is usually beyond out control. As we lick our wounds, we trudge back up the hill, fueled by a sense of hope or faith or something like that. I don't recommend using real fuel as a fuel these days, and I do not recommend trying to find a place to park around here. In San Francisco, you know, parking is such sweet sorrow.
I never really liked licking my wounds, anyway. It's much more fun to get someone else to do that.
But I'm off the topic.
On great hills or on flat surfaces, we really cannot tell what's on the horizon. But I'll take these great hills any day. It's a town made for walking, not for first gear. It's a city of high hills and high hopes. It's the home of the brave. Braver still, when you're kicked out of the house. It's where the wind comes sweeping down the plain and the fancy. It's where the poets and the writers knock themselves out to describe the city, and they're right and they're wrong every time. San Francisco is beguiling and alluring. And treacherous, just like the ocean currents beyond the Golden Gate. She'll swallow you up. She's faithless. She's fabulous. After 38 years of living here, you don't expect me to be objective, can you? And where do I get off calling the City a "she"? Well, Herb Caen did it, and cannot do better.
I could join the chorus of complainers, and shriek, "We don't want more downhill!"
What I want is not going to make a hang of difference. Maybe I don't want more downhill. Maybe I don't want more uphill, either. Uphill, downhill. At least San Francisco offers a choice.

Bruce Bellingham is a columnist for the SF Northside, and is the author of Bellingham by the Bay, a book that's devoted to ups and downs, and a few places in between.


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