Even now it's hard to imagine the Marina District without Maggie McCall. When I wrote for the Marina Times in those old days -- the late 1980s and through the 1990s -- Maggie was editor-in-chief & publisher of the neighborhood's chief voice.
Maggie's influence, and her drive were unquestioned. Her dedication to the Marina was fierce, relentless. After traveling the world, she came home to her turf, and dammit, she protected it to her level best.
Maggie McCall died on March 16 at Kaiser Hospital in San Francisco from complications of pneumonia and Alzheimer's Disease. She was 77.
She must have hated the slow deterioration that led to her death. Her daughter, Stacy Bobu, who ran the Marina Times for 13 years with Maggie, said her mom could not speak for the last two years of her life as she was remanded to convalescence in Marin County, and San Francisco. That's a terrible notion. Maggie, silent? Maggie loved to talk -- and was very good at it. She would engage people through her storytelling. She did not simply speak. She held forth. Maggie also never held back. Sometimes that would infuriate people.
When she wasn't expostulating or opining (some of her favorite words), she’d let the Marina Times do the talking.
She'd shout out in her own terms or let someone else vent, sometimes with a little less than reasonable restraint.
Maggie gave a loud voice to this small, contentious creature that's called a neighborhood newspaper. She believed neighborhood newspapers were as essential to The City as the 30-Stockton line; as vital as the power that illuminates the street lights; as important as the firefighters at Truck 16 -- even if she were occasionally setting the fire, in a figurative sense. All things of this nature worked in concert in the world of Maggie McCall. It's part of the design of a community. The Marina was Maggie's.
Maggie loved running her newspaper. Her passion was infectious.
She reminded me of those pictures of pioneers of publishing in the Wild West. That is, a green visor pulled down over the eyes, cuff protectors that keep shirtsleeves from being drenched in ink. You know, those old westerns where someone like Edmund O'Brien, playing the newspaper editor, recklessly defied the bad guys at his own peril.
Maggie, like the beleaguered defender of the free press, short of stature, would stand tall, stand up to anyone. Brave as the night, tough as nails.
Naturally this could cause friction. But most of the causes were right.
I would marvel at her indignation.
Let's see. It was 1988. I was a radio reporter at KQED-FM. I lived at Chestnut & Fillmore, above the Horseshoe Saloon, across the street from O Sole Mio restaurant & the wonderful House of Magic – that domain of tricks, the emporium owned by the inimitably crusty Mark Burger. He wanted all to believe that he he didn't believe in anything. But, you know, folks, he's a trickster. He was chronically disappointed because he believed in too much. Maggie loved him -- though Mark resists such supplications. Don't tell him I said all this, by the way. He might put a Santerîa curse on me. Santerîa? That only comes at Christmas, right? I guess I still believe in Santerîa, even if I still get coal in my stocking.
OK, Bruce, knock it off. Maggie would say that to me sometimes.
There were so many characters in the Marina in those days. It was fun to be here.
As I mentioned, as a radio reporter & local resident, I noticed that there was a neighborhood paper called The Marina. Then there was another paper, called the Marina Times. I sensed “newspaper wars” in the Marina District. So I made up a radio story about it. I talked to David Ish, who published a breezy paper, mostly about the outdoors. Then I found this woman, Maggie McCall, who had broken away from David, to start this paper, the Marina Times, that had a bit more of an edge to it. They fought like cats & dogs but became friends. I became their friends, too. But Maggie hired me to write a column. It’s a little disarming to interview someone & realize you are the one being interviewed. It happens.
Maggie gave me an introduction to what a neighborhood is all about. I thought the Marina was that “bigoted little village,” as Herb Caen described it. It’s that, for sure – but it is so much more.
Maggie told me about her times writing for Stars & Stripes in Germany, how she and her lovely & loving husband, Sam, a true hero of World War II, decided to travel around the world with their two young children, Ken & Stacy. That’s why they’re so oddly multi-lingual. Maggie also reveled in her time writing for Broadcast magazine in New York City. Broadcasting: another love we shared. When Mags, as I called her sometime, asked me to write a column, I could scarcely say no.
Then came the 1989 earthquake. A defining moment for the Marina. The neighborhood was plunged into darkness, and in many cases, despair. Some were hurt irreparably. Some died. For all of it, I never saw such compassion and generosity in my life. Pete Pallari, at O Sole Mio created a backdoor barbeque for a week or two. All the restaurants that lost power (we all did) simply brought their food to Pete and his friendly staffers and supporters, including Mario Macias. John Hizy was there. Johnny Brattesani (Steven, the dentists’s dad, and Steven’s wonderful mom, Mirella,) from Caesar’s Restaurant over in the Wharf, brought crates of food. Yes, they were all Marina heroes. Many more names come to mind – Gloria Fontanella, Maya Brouwer, the great people at La Pergola restaurant, the Wine Shop. Gee, it seems like it was only twenty years ago.
Yes, well, it was. The kindness poured out of people of the Marina like Chianti.
Pete Pallari said the other day, “Maggie saved my bacon.”
What does Pete mean by that? Stacy confirmed it.
“Lots of people had ads in the Marina Times, and had no idea how they got there,” says Stacy. “Well, they did not get there by accident. My mom placed them there free of charge. My mom believed in healing.”
Pete Pallari reaffirms, “After the earthquake, when I ran that soup kitchen out of the alley, I did not know what to do. We were about broke. Maggie ran item after item in the paper and people came back, and actually got to know us for the first time. Maggie and I stayed friends after that – right up until the day she got sick. I owe her a lot.”
No question many of us owe Maggie McCall a lot. I’m one. She was always after me for precision of language. I thought I could handle that one. Maggie tried to impart to me there was a precision of soul in writing. She also made me realize the whole world was her community, and that the world could be mine, and anyone’s who cared to seek it. No world was more profoundly close to her heart as this one --- the Marina.
The Marina was Maggie’s.
As you see, the Marina Times lives, thanks to the late David Ish, the present owner, Susan Reynolds, and the publisher, John Gollin. Remember: Maggie started all this trouble. I don’t know about you, but I thank my lucky stars for it. Oh, if you have any complaints, address them to the names mentioned above.
Mags might get a kick out of that.
Memorial services for Maggie McCall, according to Stacy, are pending.
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