San Francisco. Sentimental expatriates say, “You can leave it—but it never leaves you.” It has three approaches by land, only one of which is free. It is full of fleas that bite only tourists and newcomers, never natives. It is against the law to bet on horse races, but there are three tracks in neighboring counties and the radio stations announce the results as soon as they are received and the newspapers build circulation by giving free trips to Santa Anita. And the sailors of the Pacific Fleet call it “Bar Harbor.”
San Francisco. Chinatown delights the visitors and sickens the Health Department because its tuberculosis rate is the highest in town. Baseball Hero Lefty O’Doul has no connection with a saloon called “Lefty O’Doul’s,” and Baseball Hero Joe DiMaggio has no connection with a Fisherman’s Wharf restaurant called “DiMaggio’s.” Market Street is not only the noisiest Main Street in the country, among big cities, but also the shortest. And Maiden Lane, the “cutest” midtown street, was once the heart of the red-light district.
San Francisco. State Assemblyman Thomas Maloney, the son of a rugged South o’ the Slot saloonkeeper, has never had a drink in his life. The Marx Brothers run a string of cigar stores, Carl Marx is a bartender, the Warner Brothers are in the corset business, and there is no liaison, financial or otherwise; between the Love Brassiére Shop on Grant Avenue and the Love Investment Company on Post Street. And a favorite drink along Skid Road is milk mixed with gasoline.
San Francisco. The America-Mexico Company operates a Chinese grocery. The Fife Building on Drumm Street wasn’t so named in a fit of whimsey, but only because its original owner was a Mr. Fife. On April Fool’s Day, for years, the busiest man in town was a Mr. Seal, who worked at the Steinhart Aquarium. The White House and the City of Paris are department stores, and the Forbidden City is a night club, and the City of Hankow manufactures tassels. And there’s a downtown fur store called Fur Manchu.
San Francisco. There is a Los Angeles Hotel on California Street, but no San Francisco Hotel—unless you count the San Fran Hotel in Chinatown. George Washington is an engineer, and “Awful Fresh” MacFarlane, who makes candy, is more bashful than “Bashful” Smith, who makes blueprints for a living. And “Shorty” Roberts, who runs an atmospheric restaurant at the Beach, is renowned as the man who once swam across the Golden Gate while hanging onto a horse named “Blackie.”
San Francisco. The Top o’ the Mark, a drinking place atop the Mark Hopkins Hotel, grosses more than $1,500,000 a year, and Blum’s, a tiny corner candy store, grosses $3,000,000. The Fox Theater modestly describes itself as the “World’s Finest,” and a place called Hellwig’s offers “The World’s Best Chicken Pies,” and the Union Square Garage is the “World’s Finest Underground Garage,” and a Van Ness Avenue restaurant called the “Chicken House” features roast beef. “In a Pinch, Call Lynch,” advertises a bail bond broker named Frank Lynch, who adds, “If You’re Bailable, We’re Available.”
San Francisco. Good neighbors on Bush Street, between Powell and Mason, are O’Sullivan’s liquor store, Myers’ tailor shop, Gaddini’s cocktail lounge, and Leland Yee’s Chinese Laundry. The Messrs. Ila Millnovich, N. Katurich, A. Kovacevich, and M. Zambelich owned a famous old Montgomery Street café called Collins & Wheeland. Daniel B. Seeds runs a nursery on Clement Street, C.G. Branch is an executive with the California Nursery Company, and the officer in charge of Marine Corps recruiting is a Major Gunner whose daughter is named Maureen Gunner. Made in San Francisco: Hollywood Diet Reducing Bread.
San Francisco. In Janet Barry’s beauty parlor for dogs a warming slug of brandy and milk is available for the more delicate animals, so they won’t catch cold after their shampoos. William F. Humphrey, president of the Associated Oil Company, has offices in the Standard Oil Building; he has been elected president of a leading men’s organization, the Olympic Club, every year since 1907. The sign over a bare and dirty table in a corner of an Embarcadero restaurant reads: “This Table Reserved for Drunks.” And the William Tell House, a polka-and-schottische rendezvous on Clay Street, has two signs which indicate the diversity of its clientele: “Liverwurst Sandwiches, 15 Cents,” and “Champagne, $2.50.”
San Francisco. The best residential sections get most of the fog, and the poorest district gets most of the sunshine. Electric fly killers adorn the cages at Fleishhacker Zoo, so the animals won’t have to bother. Treasure Island, the man-made navy base in the middle of the Bay, isn’t really an island at all, because it’s connected to Yerba Buena Island. In the Mission District there’s a “Skyscraper Café” one story high. The Wells Fargo Bank isn’t in the Wells Fargo Building; it’s in the Nevada Bank Building on Montgomery Street, The Wells Fargo Building is occupied by the telephone company.
San Francisco. A dentist named Dr. Beauchamp spends thousands of dollars advertising that his name is pronounced “Beecham.” The horns on the Dy-dee Wash baby laundry trucks sound out the four notes of “Rock-a-bye Baby.” A favorite, ageless gag of the newsboys is to shout: “Extry, extry—big accident! Market Street runs into the Ferry!” A. Boxer runs a beauty parlor, Benjamin Franklin is a printer, and Rip Van Winkle is manager of a “Wide-Awake Sales & Service” Company. And there are no seals on world-famous Seal Rocks; only sea lions.
San Francisco. You can eat on Geary Street at the Eatwell (if you’re a gourmet) or directly across the street at the Eatmore (if you’re a gourmand). On the same street, a few blocks away, you can shop at the Safeway, the E-Z Way, or the Cashway markets. You can have your hair cut by the Barber of Seville, your shoes shined by King Jazz, and your nails manicured by a Miss Nail, who recently married a Mr. Emery. If you’re hungry, you can eat at the Fly Trap, the Dump, the Ground Cow, the Old Crab House, the Pig Pen, the Alley, and the Sawdust Inn. And if your sex is right, you can have your hair done in a beauty parlor on Geary near Larkin that advertises petulantly: “This beauty parlor is for women only.”
San Francisco. A 13-year-old girl named Dolly Fritz owns the fashionable Huntington Hotel on Nob Hill; her father gave it to her. Joe Parente, a fabulous figure in the bootlegging era (he was so big “Baby-Face” Nelson was merely one of his employees), owns a small corner saloon in North Beach. The real name of the engineer who runs the miniature steam train at Fleishhacker Zoo is Casey Jones. One John Quigley not only lives in a penthouse atop the Drake-Wiltshire Hotel—the penthouse has a barbecue pit. And, for sentimental reasons, the bronze corner plaque outside the City of Paris department store still lists Gaston Verdier as president of the firm, although he has been dead since 1915.
San Francisco. The slogan of the Scavengers’ Association (the garbage collectors) is “Always at Your Disposal”—and one of its members advertises: “It may be garbage to you, but it’s bread and butter to me!” George Swett is in the ventilating business, Mr. Schade sells Venetian blinds, I. Dye is an insurance adjuster with Royal Indemnity, and Edith Klock is a secretary in the main office of the Time Oil Company. The five Hand brothers—Delbert, Frank, Harold, Lee, and Mark —are all doctors with offices in the 450 Sutter Building, specializing in almost everything, except hands.
San Francisco. The biggest American Legion Post in town is the Cathay—100% Chinese. According to the sign on his plant in the Mission District, “C. W. Marwedel Taps and Dies.” The Precisely Liquor Store is in the Fillmore District, and on Stockton Street is located the Splendid Candy Company, which apparently doesn’t make splendid candy at all; the sign on its window says simply “Fine Candy.” The general manager of Radio Station KSAN is Lee Mikesell. Among the employees of a South San Francisco packing house are the Messrs. White, Gray, Blue, Brown, and Green, all of whom are Negro—and a Mr. Black, who is white.
San Francisco. The Market Hotel isn’t on Market Street, but on Washington. The offices of the Market Street Railway are on Sutter Street. The Market Street Van & Storage Company is on Mission Street. And the Masonic Temple isn’t on Masonic Avenue, but on Van Ness. There’s a Los Angeles Avenue and a Hollywood Court, but no street named San Francisco. The Italian-American Society Hall is on Russia Avenue, near London Street—and Naples and Italy streets are in the Mission, miles from the Italian section. And the San Francisco Yacht Club, second oldest in the United States, isn’t in San Francisco, but across the Bay in Belvedere.
San Francisco. You can get your shoes polished at the Sit’n’Chat Shoe Shine Shop on First Street, drop in for a snack at the Chew-n’Chat restaurant in the Fillmore sector, and get your hair done at the Cut-n’- Kurl Beauty Shop on Mission. A liquor store on Market, near First, invites passersby to “Come in and Booze Around Awhile.” Alexis, David, Robert, Fred, and Ida Benioff, all related, are in the fur business at separate establishments within a block of one another. On Turk near Taylor stands the Argue Hotel (“Don’t Argue—Stay at the Argue”) which was merely the maiden name of the woman who once owned it. A restaurant on Ellis near Steiner, featuring “Home-cooked Food,” calls itself the Wee Wee Café. And the telephone girls at the Carnation Milk Company greet incoming calls with “Moo to you!”
San Francisco. Its official motto is Oro en paz, fierro en guerra—”Gold in peace, iron in war.” William Howard Taft contributed its most famous slogan when he called it “The city that knows how,” to which disgruntled present-day citizens add: “But when?”
Countless other notables have lavished their praise on Baghdad by the Bay, but it remained for a visiting Chicagoan named Keith Wheeler to contribute a line that, in the two years since he first uttered it, has already become a classic: “East is East, but West is— San Francisco!”
Don’t call it Frisco.