this entry is a work in progress: more info will be provided

more info now provided. 8.12.16

The point is not to engage in some sort of revolutionary art-criticism, but to make a revolutionary critique of all art.[i] – debord

i most humbly submit.

btw: most entries in bold can be clicked on to take readers to that entry.

hildago, delores park, san franscisco, CA, with wreaths delivered on cinco de mayo.

portsmouth square, san francisco, CA. students at the San Francisco Art Institute built, at their risk, a monument to those who died in tiannamen square.

St Francis, City College, San Francisco, Beniamino Bufano

sun yat sen, Beniamino Bufano

ben franklyn, in washington square park, San Francisco

columbus, coit tower plaza

joan d’arc, san francisco, presidio french museum

golden gate park

maccalren:  the scot who planted 2 million trees, and planted sea grass from scotland, to tame the pacific dunes that made golden gate park possible.

the following essay was published with fewer images than i’d hoped . so i’ve added above, a photoessay i hope speaks for itself, which camerawork didn’t have space/means to publish,  alternative ‘figures’, non-sequentially ordered, that will be repetitively shown in the body of the essay, below . so, the concept of ‘interpolation’ is simply  reconsidered.

what follows is the portrait of THE US city before and during (though not after) the moment it was destroyed by apple, google, facebook,  their investors and other cronies. and this from the POV of someone who moved there in 1984 to be apart of it’s progressive lifestyle. i left in 2007, after writing the following, when i realized that the ‘BIG TECH’ companies were the latest colonists different than the original spanish colonialists, only in that, they would be even worse because they are happy to annihilate not only bodies, but minds, entire cultures, entire histories, for their own profit.

Interpolations from the Subduction Zone, a ‘monumental’ psychogeographical portrait of San Franscisco, published in Camerawork Journal, October, 2004.

San Francisco is neither a place nor a singular time. Proof of this claim lies beneath the machinery floor of the Cable Car Museum on Mason Street, where whirring and humming horizontal sheaves feed cable moving at 9.5 miles per hour through ducts beneath the surface of the city’s streets to its network of trolley tracks. San Francisco drags itself up by its bootstraps and down its own steepest streets, always on the move through a matrix [matrix?] of sensations. But neither the technological ingenuity nor the anachronistic, bell-tolling cars symbolizes the subduction zone.[i]

The cars and their mechanisms are a moving monument to a little-known historical event: The People’s Railway. Started by the Prussian immigrant Adolph Sutro of Aachen[ii] as a popular subscription line to ferry late-nineteenth-century residents the long distances from the market-cornering schemes of Yerba Buena Cove to Lands End and the colossal baths built for their pleasures, it defeated the hold of the Central Pacific octopus on city transportation by undercutting their prices.[iii] Today’s cars then are memories of a civic San Francisco designed for its residents, not solely for profit. Today, between the consumptive tourist city and the boundless amour propre of the developer city, between techno-rapacious media gulch and loophole carpetbaggers, remains a plundered people city, a weak civic city, and a forgotten symbolic or performative city. As the former continue to strangle the latter with their tentacled grip on power and policy, the latter are suffering, irreparably in many cases, as the city becomes wealthier for fewer, more homogeneous, less and less culturally vibrant. The spirit of the ‘48ers persists,[iv] however, with social and cultural pursuits such as the baths and forests Sutro built for San Franciscans, though with resources inhumanely feeble by comparison. The perfomative city lies elsewhere, in synapses of urban movements, audible though invisible below the surface, in counterpoint to the tower that, having stolen Sutro’s name to camouflage the scandal of its illegal construction,[v] dominates with brute affrontery the visual city at every compass point.

figure 1: sutro tower compass points

Left to right: [west] Sardine crane at Islais Creek; [south] Junipero Serra in the Music Concourse, Golden Gate Park; [east] Windmill at Ocean Beach; [north] Beniamino Bufano’s St. Francis at City College.

San Francisco is not singular, but rather a nest of names. A bay’s name was transferred to the village of Yerba Buena by the first American alcalde, a Spanish-speaking officer of Captain Montgomery’s U. S. S. Portsmouth, Lieutenant Washington Bartlett, only in January of 1847. Its identity has continued to slip ever since as San Francisco manifests a prolific name-shifting. It is Sunset, Telegraph, Castro, North Beach, Marina, Mission, Tenderloin, Potrero, Embarcadero That each is derived from a representative urban function, Potrero is Spanish for pasture, unlike Richmond, merely a name. It is Maiden Breasts[vi] or Dolores. It is the mothers, wives, daughters, and lovers of an early masculine village: Harriet, Jessie, Annie, Grace, Clara, Eliza, Alice. It is Hunter’s Point, or Fisherman’s Wharf, or Lands End, or Presidio, or Baker Beach. It is still Yerba Buena. It is Muwekma Ohlone at Islais Creek. It is Mexico, Venezuela, Italy, Spain, Portugal, Germany, and Russia, though neither British nor French. It is Samoa, Hawaii, Japan, China, Cambodia, Nepal, Philippines. It was never merely “frontier” as miners demanded opera while immigrants arrived from around Cape Horn and across the Pacific. It was never onlyWest, but always also East, North, and South. It is fable or tale or poem or epic or allegory. It is not novel. Since the late thirties, it has been bridge.

The Golden Gate Bridge is to Outsiders the city’s precise location. To realize how unstable this destination is, however, we need only imagine a prisoner at Alcatraz during the 1930s pausing after his penitentiary lunch on the stairs that led from the dinning room steeply down into the sky-barred cell that was an exercise court. We realize, through him, that the famed not-golden icon was a visual echo of aural reverberations skimming along the surface of the bay from the construction of its more utilitarian, though no less remarkable, companion, the Bay Bridge. Daily in clear weather, at exactly the same time, for the briefest instant, our prisoner was able to observe the only sign of time passing in the world beyond the prison walls, one that inserted a single frame of change into the monotonous, static, unredemptive routines of incarceration. In his visual field, he would have marked the slow, monumental progress of suturing the Gate, while in his auditory field he would have felt each weld, each rivet, each metallic joint forging the toll road between San Francisco and Oakland. In 1936 the Army Corps of Engineers opened the City to factory industry, and in 1938 Joseph Strauss completed the tourist industry magnet, leaving Romulus and Remus to face off in perpetuity over the spoils of global business between them. San Francisco was prosthetically joined to the continental United States, and assimilated at that moment into the national highway system. The colossal, river-ocean “gate” was literally and figuratively replaced by the domesticated icon, the “Golden Gate Bridge,” while the battered, already largely industrialized and landfilled “Bay” was transmogrified as “Bay Bridge.” San Francisco flows through these two imaginary arteries, diffusing its northern Californian mythos into America’s global body. The rest of America remains non–San Franciscan by the tribute it must pay to cross into its interior multiverse over its fantastic, modern, mechanical organs. It maintains the illusion of its former, much romanticized counterculture only symbolically. Once it was stage-set for Tarzan’s graceful swan dive defeat of civilization. Today it transports terror as an Al Qaeda target.

figure 2: Alcatraz Island, views from the top stair to the exercise court.

But another mapping forces itself upon us. Where is San Francisco for Insiders? Where, for those who paid their tribute and never left? For Insiders, there is no single stair from which they might unify their audiovisual fields. Instead, they are parsed out among the hills; Bernal Hill, Potrero Hill, Russian Hill, Telegraph Hill, Twin Peaks, Alamo Square, Buena Vista Park. Or along colonial routes: Columbus, Anza, Balboa, Cabrillo. Fremont, Sutter, Montgomery, Junipero Serra. San Francisco, for Insiders as for Outsiders, is neither a place nor a time nor a name. It is a continually shifting array of reflections, self-reflections, and perspectives without repetition. There is no singular view of the city, only a relay of differences from gradient to gradient in defiance and mockery of the grid that fails to regularize it. No unified vision of it is possible. Portola, 22nd Street, Divisadero, Jones Street, Union Street, Franklin Street. Hills make necessary both intimacy and distance. One arrives in Cole Valley via 17th Street at the end of a long and studied approach as one arrives with relief on the ground after a long flight in the company of a lover. San Francisco is not a “place,” but an unstable geography, a ceaselessly transformative, cinematic topography.

We encounter a schism here, true of every city. The Real History of San Francisco does not coincide with the Real Fantasy of it. Only the briefest geographical history, the most fleeting of compositions, like that of our prisoner, could possibly interpolate the tensile movements between these two actualities. To be glimpsed, such a history must flash in peripheral visions and come to life as persistent afterimages, or conjurings of a prestidigitator, so that they color and reorient every memory and sense perception they touch. This San Francisco is revealed only through a virtual archaeology, excavated and arranged while riding a perpetual motion machine, of informal, everyday history, a history of the lived dailiness that is no less “real” than its official histories. History is not simply memory; it is also what is forgotten or never known. It is a material force with infinite morphological capacity—symbolic in its simplest life form and political in its most complex. It is the sum of the acts that claim it, the circulation of interpretations; it is the shifting patterns of lived and materially fantasized affective, spoken, misspoken, misremembered movements that concretize the City in all its specificities. These movements leave traces everywhere, but nowhere more productively than in the City’s monuments, scattered haphazardly through every neighborhood, dedicated for countless reasons and purposes by a wide diversity of donors, allowing for no collective logic, nor a curatorial logic of collection. But in this collective illogic the greatest pleasure and historical accuracy is to be found. It demonstrates, even in its weak, symbolic state, a resistance to hegemonic historical views.

John McLaren fixed 100,000 acres of shifting sand by planting sea bent, a mere grass, and with dung from the city streets composted soil in which to root trees, even redwoods, and rooted dunes even at the incipient park’s Pacific edge with a latticed esplanade that slowly rose through forty years to twenty feet above Ocean Beach. Strauss’s 80,000 miles of cable suspending the roadway 250 feet above mean tide is mere technological bravado in comparison, merely the product of mechanical and exploited labor in the Bethlehem Steel mills. Gandhi defeated the Empire with a gesture not unlike McLaren’s planting of two million trees—mining salt by hand from the sea. Such epic performances of satyagraha[vii] are as awesome as they are rare, as most nationalistic enterprises are born like the bridge: against massive resistance, with technology, money, and force. When the Liberty Bell from Hidalgo’s church in Dolores, Mexico rings independence in Mexico City’s zócalo,[viii] its San Franciscan replicant remains silent as though in honor of the dead, as flower wreaths are laid at Hidalgo’s feet at midnight of September 15th in Dolores Park in honor of the priest-soldier’s first (and last) campaign against Spain. Across the City in Chinatown, the Kuomingtang’s socialist modernizer, Benny Bufano’s stainless steel and red granite Sun Yat-Sen stands with Confucian poise in St. Mary’s Square, as Simón Bolívar, Sun’s precursor in continental unification and five-branch government, rides at the head of the United Nations against both pioneers and City Hall. These socialist dreams are not dead. The Goddess of Democracy has stood since 1989 in solidarity with protesters at Tiananman Square, in Chinatown’s Portsmouth Square among the gambling, just behind the plaque that commemorates Montgomery’s taking of Yerba Buena from Mexico. Its bilingual dedication recalls something of Ho Chi Minh’s futile claim to Wilson’s “Fourteen Points” of self-determination, the denial of which led directly to the Vietnam War—”DEDICATED TO THOSE WHO STRIVE FOR AND CHERISH HUMAN RIGHTS AND DEMOCRACY.” Meanwhile, marriages take place on the lawn of the Palace of Legion Honor, oblivious to the battles that rage concurrently about them, led by Bolívar’s equestrian compatriots, Jeanne d’Arc, and El Cid, oddly the patron-warriors that leave the morose though enlightened Thinker unmolested in his seat at the Legion’s entrance. Perhaps it was he who conjured Roald Amundsen’s way through the Northwest Passage to his landing at McLaren’s esplanade.[ix] And somewhere a synapse fires the message: Go North by Northwest, young man.

Figure 3 “Monument Grid goes with above

Left to right, top to bottom: Joseph Strauss, Mahatma [Mohandas? – called by both names, I thought Mahatma was the more common, not sure, your call] Gandhi, John McLaren, Miguel Hidalgo y Costillo, Sun Yat-sen, Goddess of Democracy, Simón Bolívar, El Cid, Jeanne d’Arc

We may discover today’s performative city, as Slick Willy’s developer city passes to Gaveling Nuisance,[x] only by traveling on the Jack Kerouac Way time machine,9 like Mateo Ricci returning through a sci-fi wormhole, from Chinatown to North Beach, or alternatively, along the Mason-Dixon line reinscribed in miniature from U. S. Grant Street to Columbus Avenue. Slick’s legacy marks territory like all Tom cats in Versache suits, with indelible signs; co-dedicated by the Mayor of Genoa, America’s made-in-Italy discoverer and symbol of white, Western supremacy, Columbus, gazes with stiff, mock heroism over Telegraph’s north slope, over Alcatraz and Angel Islands, over Marin County, with Coit Tower itself rising behind him, an exclamation mark punctuating the continental finale of manifest destiny.10 Meanwhile, Nuisance watches his back from the heights of Coit’s wealth-dedicated south stairs, looking south by southeast to San Francisco’s other bridges: beyond SBC Park,11 over Strauss’s Third Street Bridge at Mission Creek,12 beyond Mission Bay’s fait accompli development, to the renovation-in-process of the Levon Hasop Nishkian Bridge at Islais Creek, one block south of Cesar Chavez, militant leader of the performative city..[xi] Dial space-time coordinates for an itinerary through 1870, 1906,2004, and 2008:

Figure 4

12. Time Machine: Jack Kerouac Way – two views: left image, Columbus toward Grant; right image, Grant toward Columbus

Islais Creek once ran from the indigenous Laguna Dolores, a lake between 15th, 19th, and Guerrero Streets and South Van Ness through a precious 5,000 acres of tidal marshes and into the bay.[xii] These precious wetlands were a casualty of the 1906 earthquake, when thousands of tons of debris dumped there destroyed the marshes on both sides of the creek. Islais’s remaining channel was then dredged, and until the 1950s was the site of the largest sardine canning industry in the world, as evidenced by the rusting crane that still stands there among the homeless encampments and rotting wharves of the former marketplace. To the northeast of the Levon Hasop Nishkian Bridge, just downstream from a city sewage outlet, is the “Muwekma Ohlone Sanctuary Pocket Park.”13 A pastoral fragment of trees and flowering plants, it is a desperate fantasy of a nonexistent previous era, industriously maintained by the Department of Public Works and the homeless, for whom it is a genuine sanctuary. Symbolically it testifies to both the brute power of the developer city and its rapacious destruction, and to the weakness of a well-intentioned civic city coming to the aid of a suffering people city. Compared to the development of SBC “Park” at Mission Creek, the effort is an affront. As the renovation of the Levon Hasop Nishkian Bridge promises, by 2008 developer plots driven by profiteering will have been allocated as Mission Bay merges with Bayview. The north bank of Islais Creek, west of the bridge, has already been designed with the institutional crudity of office parks. This manifest destiny is not fait accompli. If the yearly $25 million of taxpayer money were not siphoned off for city salaries and park maintenance and put to its intended use—to purchase public lands—the 5,000-acre Islais marshlands might be restored and a bay shoreline incorporated within the city limits, similar to that at Crissey Field,14 providing this area of the city with a sense of history renewed and a public commons in the spirit of McLaren. How likely is such a vision? If Mark Brest van Kempen’s forthcoming artwork, Monument to the Forgotten Dead is any indication, then we can be sure that plans are being laid for first-wave gentrification to increase land values in Bayview, as speculators accumulate capital.15 Brest van Kempen’s work remembers one precedent of how well the people city has fared—how a golf course replaced the Golden Gate Cemetery at Lands End. Skeletal remains still lie beneath the greens and games of oblivious golfers while the gravestones erased of identity lie bleached at the base of Golden Gate’s cliffs, persisting in their claims for proper burial.

figure5 goes with above paragraph

Left to right . Islais Creek, looking west from Levon Hasop Nishkian Bridge; Pioneer Monument, detail of Indian, Vaquero, and Priest ; Muwekma Ohlone Sactuary Pocket Park on north bank of Islais Creek, east of the Levon Hasop Nishkian Bridge.

Now zoom out once more and reset the time machine for the Alcatraz Terrane, that drifting continental fragment that circumscribes San Francisco’s subduction zone. John Roloff’s Geologic Flags insists that only through imaginative acts may historical space-time become geologically real. Its concreteness exists only on a global scale and demands a global mediation “below the soil” and “across” the superficial borders to which environmental forces are legally blind. Roloff’s monument casts radical doubt on the notion of allegiance. Whose air pollutes your lungs? Whose blood has saturated and fertilized the crops that nourish you? We are generally both too fast and too slow for a world performed in these terms. We are always too late or too soon and always too small or too big for it to enter our experiences—we may only deduce or die from it. Roloff’s simple act of substitution—terrane location and composition for symbolic, segregationist identity—is a subtle argument for supplementing our anthropocentric identity coordinates so that we may begin to imagine dwelling with both hindsight and foresight, with patience and planning and experiment [ing? – prefer as is, but your call] according to scale shifts and exigencies of geo-history.

figure 6 the map with its key?

John Roloff, Geologic Flags, 2004 [date?]; digital print. [delete if it’s your print, Roloff’s print]

Alcatraz, Spanish for pelican, is an island in history dense as a dream: Ohlone homeland, colonial fort, colonial prison, federal prison, reoccupied “Indian” territory, national park. Real History and Real Fantasy are condensed in this geographical symbol lying midway between the two Outer Bridges and all they suspend: tourism and industry, consumption and production, Marin and Alameda Counties, Strauss and McLaren. What values may we interpolate from the pelican? A father pelican tears its own breast to provide blood to revive its offspring killed by snakes in their nest.An Ohlone incantation sings of Pelican beating Fog’s wife; it was sung to bring a husband home even if far away. 16 Our prisoner living in the Alcatraz Terrane is the negative symbol of a collective city held “hostage,” stock-piled like bombs, models par excellence of planned obsolescence and slavery, false symbols of deterrence, true symbols of life and labor in suspended de-animation, in death. That the means and mechanisms of enormous investment in the civic city exist is proved negatively by the inverted social image of the prison. By these means and mechanisms the civic city and the people city will either continue to be plundered or be revitalized. Which Alcatraz? Which island, gate, bay and creek? Which history, which fantasy? What bridge? What scale, whose scale? Choice is that concrete, that symbolically stark.

Just below the subduction zone lies volcanic heat. San Francisco has dense symbolic capital it hasn’t begun to tap. What effective strategies pertain in the subduction zone to counter America’s patriotic snakes, ostriches, and kangaroo courts?

1. Subduction is the geologic process of one tectonic plate being forced beneath another, creating a break between the surface crust and the mantle below it. Terranes are proto-continents that accrete to form continents. http://www.platetectonics.com/book/page_12.asp
2. Aachen is one of the oldest and most notable spa towns in what is now Germany, and probably an inspiration for the baths Sutro built just north of the Cliff House overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
3. “The Pacific Improvement Company is a wheel within a wheel.… It is an octopus of many tentacles and enormous suction power…. They [Stanford, Huntington, Hopkins, and Crocker] exerted a terrorism over merchants and over communities.” Summer et al., Pamphlets on California Railroads, #18, 1894, 6–9.
4. The revolutionaries that swept through nineteenth-century Europe on worker-oriented nationalist platforms were known as the ’48ers. The ’49ers of the California Gold Rush, named after them, coopted their progressivism for purely libertarian ideals, much as the “neoliberals” have today. Sutro left Prussia in 1849 and arrived in San Francisco in 1851, bringing the spirit of the ’48ers with him.
5. Sutro Tower was built in 1971-2 with the collusion of the local newspapers, which maintained a complete news blackout on it for almost a decade. See Stephen R. Barnett, “The Colossus of Mt. Sutro,” San Francisco 15, 5 (May 1973), at http://www.sutro.org/.
6. Satyagraha is Gandhi’s term for the principle of “nonviolence.”
7. A memorial to the discoverer of the Northwest Passage can be found in the parking lot of the Beach Chalet at Ocean Beach.
8. San Francisco’s current mayor is Gavin Newsom, elected largely by developer and elite constituencies. His immediate predecessor was Willie Brown, known as “Slick Willy” for his cronyism.
9. Jack Kerouac Way is a one-block alley between Columbus Avenue in the largely Italian North Beach and Grant Street, central axis of Chinatown.
10. A statue of Columbus was dedicated at Coit Tower in 1997 by Mayor Sansa of Genoa and Willie Brown.
11. SBC Park is the new sports stadium finessed by Brown in the newly developing Mission Bay area.
12. Third Street runs from downtown past the stadium through Mission Bay to Bayview and into the Hunter’s Point neighborhood. Islais Creek is crossed by Third Street a couple of miles south of Mission Creek. Development is moving rapidly along Third Street toward Hunter’s Point, prime land along the bay.
13. The Ohlone are San Francisco’s indigenous Native Americans.See http://www.muwekma.org/ and http://www.cr.nps.gov/seac/appeals3.htm.
14. See, “Open space funds being diverted,” San Francisco Chronicle, Tuesday, May 11, 2004, pp. 1,8. Crissey Field, a park along the north shore of San Francisco, once a military base, has reclaimed tidal marshes destroyed by landfill.
15. See William Chrittenden Sharpsteen, “Vanished Waters of Southeastern San Francisco,” California Historical Society Quarterly, XXI, 2 (June 1941), a copy of which can be found at http://www.sfmuseum.net/hist5/vanish.html. For confirmation of this speculation on speculators, see, “Planning pawns: Will pay-to-play politics persist in Newsom’s Planning Department? All signs point to yes.”, San Francisco Bay Guardian, May 12, 2004. Mark Brest van Kempen’s work will be part of the upcoming Monument’s Recall exhibition at Cameraworks Gallery in October.
16. See Jorges Luis Borges, “The Pelican,” The Book of Imaginary Beings (New York: Avon, 1970), 180–81. See Malcolm Margolin, The Ohlone Way (Berkeley: Heyday Books, 1978), p. 95.

 

[i]1. Subduction is the geologic process of one tectonic plate being forced beneath another, creating a break between the surface crust and the mantle below it. Terranes are proto-continents that accrete to form continents. [source?]

2. Aachen is one of the oldest and most notable spa towns in what is now Germany, and probably an inspiration for the baths Sutro built just north of the Cliff House overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
3. “The Pacific Improvement Company is a wheel within a wheel.… It is an octopus of many tentacles and enormous suction power…. They (Stanford, Huntington, Hopkins, and Crocker) [use brackets if those are your insertions] exerted a terrorism over merchants and over communities.” Summer et al., Pamphlets on California Railroads, #18, 1894, 6–9.
4. The revolutionaries that swept through nineteenth-century Europe on worker-oriented nationalist platforms were known as the ’48ers. The ’49ers of the Gold Rush, named after them, coopted their progressivism for purely libertarian ideals, much as the “neoliberals” have today. Sutro left Prussia in 1849 and arrived in San Francisco in 1851, bringing the spirit of the ’48ers with him.
5. Sutro Tower was built [in the early 1970s?] with the collusion of the local newspapers, which maintained a complete news blackout [on it?] for almost a decade. See Stephen R. Barnett, “The Colossus of Mt. Sutro,” San Francisco 15, 5 (May 1973), at http://www.sutro.org/ .

[vi] The indigenous Ohlone name for Twin Peaks, meant maiden breasts.

6. Satyagraha is Gandhi’s term for the principle of “nonviolence.”

[viii] Zocalo is Spanish for town square.

7. A memorial to the discoverer of the Northwest Passage can be found in the parking lot of the Beach Chalet at Ocean Beach.
8. San Francisco’s current mayor is Gavin Newsom, elected largely by developer and elite constituencies. He immediate predecessor was Willie Brown, known as “Slick Willy” for his cronyism.
9. Jack Kerouac Way is a one-block alley between Columbus Avenue in the Italian [accurate?] North Beach and Grant Street, central axis of Chinatown. A statue of Columbus was dedicated at Coit Tower in 1997 by Mayor Sansa of Genoa and Willie Brown. Pac Bell (currently SBC?) Park, the new sports stadium finessed by Brown, in the newly developing Mission Bay area. 3^rd street runs from the stadium through Mission Bay to Bay View and into the Hunters Point neighborhood. Islais Creek is crossed by 3^rd Street a couple of miles south of Mission Creek. Cesar Chavez, California’s best known labor activist, murdered in , achieved considerable symbolic success when Army Street was renamed in his honor. Development is moving rapidly along 3^rd Street toward Hunter’s Point, prime land along the bay. The Ohlone are San Francisco’s indigenous Native Americans. See http://www.muwekma.org/ and http://www.cr.nps.gov/seac/appeals3.htm. Crissey Field a park along the north shore of San Francisco, once a military base, has reclaimed tidal marshes destroyed by landfill.

[xii] See Chrittenden Sharpsteen’s “Vanished Waters of Southeastern San Francisco,” California Historical Society Quarterly, Vol. XXI, No. 2, June 1941, by William, a copy of which can be found at, http://www.sfmuseum.net/hist5/vanish.html.