Yet again, my goal to post more often has not come to pass! It’s been many months since my last entry. One reason is that my father passed away in December 2023, and I have been preoccupied with grief and busy with being the co-executor of his estate. In preparing our family home for sale, I have had to go through so many mementos and photos. Some of them bring back memories of my childhood and youth, and others are from before I was even born. It is a strange feeling to look at snapshots of the life of relatives you never knew, or those you only knew when they were older.
One thing that has been really interesting for me is an album that my maternal great grandparents on my grandfather, John Farr’s, side put together. I love looking at old photos, and it’s been very special seeing shots of my grandfather and his siblings as babies, children, teens, and young adults. I’d seen some of the photos of my grandfather before, but many of these photos are new to me. There are people I recognize, and there are others who remain a mystery, as some of the photos are not labeled, and all who knew those pictured in the oldest photos are long gone. I already had some gems from my maternal great grandparents on my grandmother, Sally Davis Farr’s, side and have loved looking through them.
I recently shared a few photos on social media of my great grandparents on their wedding day and around the time they got married. Several people commented that they were surprised to see my great grandparents being affectionate in the photos–perhaps they had only seen photos in which everyone looked serious, or even dour. It is sweet and somehow comforting to see displays of affection or silliness in historic photos. I will share a few of my family favorites here.
Late 1800s/early 1900s: My maternal great grandparents, Wally Davis (top center) and Mattie Davis (on steps behind man with arm raised) goofing around with friends, probably in Wilkes-Barre, PA.Late 1800s/early 1900s: My maternal great grandparents, Wally Davis (top center) and Mattie Davis (on steps facing camera) goofing around with friends, probably in Wilkes-Barre, PA.
Late 1800s/early 1900s: My maternal great grandparents, Wally Davis (far right sitting in barrel) and Mattie Davis (front, center, facing camera) goofing around with friends, probably in Wilkes-Barre, PA.
Late 1800s: An unknown woman with a child who may be my great aunt Jean with a puppy, probably in Wilkes-Barre, PA.
1902: My great grandfather, Edward Farr, kisses his new wife, Sara Rae Morris Farr, on the cheek. They are probably on the Farr family farm in Forkston, PA.1902: My great grandfather, Edward Farr, and his new wife, Sara Rae Morris Farr, holding hands. They are probably on the Farr family farm in Forkston, PA.
1910: My grandmother Sally Davis (Farr) with dog, probably in Wilkes-Barre, PA.
Around 1912: My grandfather John Farr with friend Claire McKown. My grandfather looks pouty because he wanted a bicycle, not a tricycle! Tunkhannock, PA.
Around 1920: Grandmother Sally Davis (Farr) in a canoe on Lake Carey, PA.
I’ve been visiting the Morris Arboretum & Gardens in the bucolic Chestnut Hill neighborhood of Philadelphia pretty often, having bought an annual membership. Not only is is a beautiful and historic arboretum, but the brother and sister who founded it, John Thompson Morris (1847-1915) and Lydia Thompson Morris (1849-1932), were first cousins to my great great grandfather, James Wilson Morris, so I have a family connection. The Morris Arboretum is also the official arboretum of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.
My great great grandfather, James Morris, 1888
Lydia Morris on the porch of Compton (the Morris’ home) with dog, around 1890. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
John Morris, around 1880. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
The Morris Arboretum & Gardens began as Compton, the private estate of the siblings. John and Lydia had purchased farmland in the Chestnut Hill area of Philadelphia in 1887 and began planning a garden that would combine art and science and preserve various trees, flowers, and other flora.
Compton in the 1930s. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
The land was initially barren, with many steep slopes. From the beginning, John and Lydia shared a vision for Compton to become a public garden and educational institution one day. Over time, the siblings bought adjacent parcels, including the farm across the street, improved the land, and planted collections of exotic and native trees and shrubs from across the temperate world. They also had walls and other features built and added statuary. They traveled a lot and often were inspired by gardens they visited. John was interested in growing plants from China, including those collected by British plant collector E. H. Wilson around 1900, and many of the plants currently in the arboretum date to Morris’ original plantings.
John Morris in Flower Walk Trellis, late 1880s. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
John and Lydia Morris by the Love Temple on Swan Pond, 1908. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
Swan Pond with Love Temple, 2023. Photo by Blair Davis.
In addition to all the plants, John added some outbuildings and several distinctive structures to the grounds, including the fernery (now the only remaining freestanding Victorian fernery in North America), a log cabin built as a private retreat for Lydia, and the Mercury Loggia, constructed in 1913 to commemorate the Morrises’ 25th anniversary at Compton. There was also an old springhouse that was there when John and Lydia had purchased the property.
Log Cabin, 1911. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
The Log Cabin in 2023. Photo by Blair Davis.
Workmen laying rocks in Ravine Garden with the Loggia in the background, 1913. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
The Mercury Loggia in 2023. Photo by Blair Davis.
Inside the fernery, 2023. Photo by Blair Davis.
John died in 1915, leaving the estate in trust to Lydia. The plan was for Compton to eventually become a botanical garden and school for horticulturists. Lydia continued to cultivate the grounds until her death in 1932, when she bequeathed the property to the University of Pennsylvania. From then on, it was known as the Morris Arboretum of the University of Pennsylvania. The Compton house was used as a research center for many years, but after it began to deteriorate, it was demolished in 1968.
The Morris contains more than 11,000 labeled plants from temperate regions of North America, Asia, and Europe, with a primary focus on Asia. The Morris has identified 17 trees in its collection as outstanding specimens, including a massive katsura tree and a grove of redwoods. Newer additions include a miniature railroad and the Tree Adventure exhibit, which includes the Tree Canopy Walk, a giant bird nest, and a net platform. In 2023, the arboretum changed its name to the Morris Arboretum & Gardens to honor its renewed focus on colorful flower gardens as well as trees. If you haven’t visited, you should!
My parents with a statue of Lydia Morris, 1990.
Me with statues of Lydia and John Morris, 2021.
John Tonkin (head gardener from 1913-1975), with his daughter, Margaret Tonkin Medlar, and wife, Margaret Williams Tonkin, by the Love Temple, 1919. Photo courtesy of the Morris Arboretum archives.
Swan seen through Love Temple, 2023. Photo by Blair Davis.
Well, a lot has happened since my last post, which was in June. It’s August now, and I have moved from San Francisco to Philadelphia. While Philadelphia is a familiar city for me (I lived here from 1986 to 2005), I am in a neighborhood that I hadn’t known too well. I’m in Roxborough, which is on the northwestern end of the city between the Schuylkill River and the Wissahickon Valley section of Fairmount Park. Roxborough is a no-frills, somewhat family oriented area, although it is adjacent to a smaller neighborhood called Manayunk that is trendy and younger. When I lived in Philly before, I hardly ever came out this way, as I lived in various West Philly and Center City neighborhoods and didn’t own a car; Roxborough/Manayunk is far from Center City, 8 to 9 miles, and thus was not so easily accessible to me back then.
It’s been interesting getting to know this area better. Fortunately for me, I have a few good friends who live nearby, and they have been helpful in acclimating me to Roxborough. It’s not a flashy place, but it has some great things to offer and some interesting history.
Early History
Like much of Philadelphia, Roxborough is OLD. Prior to white settlers, Lenape Indians lived in the area, which was called Manatawna. They created a trail called Manatawny that later became Ridge Road (now Ridge Avenue). By the late 1600s, the area was considered by European settlers to be a prime location for farming and milling. The early population of Roxborough was mostly Germans, who would eventually migrate to “Dutch Country” in southeastern/south-central Pennsylvania, and also English and Scottish people.
In 1690, the area was renamed Roxburgh, likely after Roxburghshire, Scotland, the ancestral home of Andrew Robeson, one of the earliest settlers of the area. By 1707, the name had been changed to Roxborough Township. Before the arrival of railroads, Ridge Avenue, still a main thoroughfare through Roxborough, was a key travel and commerce route, running from Center City Philadelphia, through Roxborough, and beyond.
Levering School, built in 1857. Photo taken in late 1800s-early 1900s.
In the fall and winter of 1777, Roxborough, among other Philadelphia neighborhoods, was the site of bitter battles in the American Revolution. Following the war, Roxborough began to prosper again. Local waterways powered saw mills, paper mills, cotton mills, and more. A dam, canal, and locks were built on the Schuylkill River at Manayunk (a sub-neighborhood of Roxborough that was then called Flat Rock) in the early 1800s, which led to more mills and factories sprouting up.
Stone house at the corner of Henry Avenue and Wises Mill Road, taken in the late 1940s but probably built in the 1800s.
Later History
Manayunk was declared a borough within Roxborough township in 1840 and then declared a separate town in 1847. In 1854, the townships and boroughs in the region became part of the City of Philadelphia. By the mid to late 1800s, farmlands were being converted into residential streets with pretty Victorian homes. The community grew and saw the construction of a hospital in 1890.
Since the 1950s, most of Philadelphia’s major television and FM radio stations have located their transmission towers in Roxborough because of its hilly terrain and high elevation. At night, you can see the towers (near where I live) lit up with red lights. Like many urban neighborhoods, Roxborough declined in the mid to late 1900s but underwent some rebirth in the 1990s and early 2000s. Today, it has a lot of residential areas, some restaurants and other businesses centered on Ridge Avenue, and access to the trendier Main Street of Manayunk and trails and parks to the west (along the Schuylkill River) and east (in the Wissahickon Valley).
Dupont Street, a typical block in residential Roxborough.Businesses on Ridge Avenue.
I have started working in the office two days a week after a year and a half of working at home because of COVID-19. It’s weird being back in the office, even if it is only 2 out of 5 work days! But that’s not the point of this post. The point is, I was wondering about which famous artists and musicians were born in and/or have lived in San Francisco. I am aware of a few, but I realized I have never researched this question, and I am sure there are many more than I knew about.
One thing that sparked this question for me (and explains why I mentioned working in the office again) was when I was commuting home after work last week (I take the bus, and my stop is on Haight Street), I was standing in front of a shop window that has a jewelry display. Some of the necklaces in the window are on stands, and the shop owner had put large photos of Janis Joplin’s face on some of them. A 20-something woman and her friend walked by, and the woman sneered, “Hah–they put some random woman’s face on that necklace!!” Her friend laughed, and I wanted to slap my palm against my forehead, seeing two young people who didn’t recognize/know about Janis Joplin! As I said, this got me to thinking about famous people who have lived in SF. Janis was not from here (she was from Port Arthur, Texas), but she did live in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood in the ’60s.
This post contains some I already knew of, and others I didn’t. I am learning about some of these famous San Franciscans right now, as I write this post! Learn along with me!
Bruce Lee
Most people don’t know that Bruce Lee, one of the most famous martial artists in history, was born in San Francisco’s famous Chinatown. He was born there in 1940. His parents were from Hong Kong and moved back there with Bruce when he was 3 months old.
Ansel Adams
Iconic landscape photographer and conservationist Ansel Adams was born in the Western Addition neighborhood of San Francisco in 1902. His family also owned a house in the Sea Cliff neighborhood. Four-year-old Ansel Adams was injured in an aftershock of the great 1906 earthquake, breaking his nose when he was jolted into a wall.
Linda Ronstadt
Famous singer Linda Ronstadt was born in Arizona and lived in Los Angeles during her early career. She moved to San Francisco in the ’80s, then back to Tucson in the late ’90s, then back to San Francisco again in the early 2000s. When I was looking for an apartment in SF 2 years ago, I saw one that is across the street from where the singer now lives.
Danny Glover
Actor Danny Glover was born in San Francisco, attending school in the Richmond District. He also went to college at San Francisco State University.
Courtney Love
Grunge rock musician Courtney Love was born in San Francisco in 1964. She spent her early years in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, until moving to Oregon with her mother after her parents divorced in 1970. Love briefly moved back to San Francisco in the mid-’80s to pursue her music career and also attended the San Francisco Art Institute to study film and theater.
Rube Goldberg
Reuben Garrett Lucius Goldberg, known best as Rube Goldberg, a cartoonist, sculptor, author, engineer, and inventor, was born in San Francisco in 1883. He is most famous for his popular cartoons depicting complicated gadgets (“Goldberg machines”) performing simple tasks in indirect, convoluted ways.
Wayne Thiebaud
“Three Machines” by Wayne Thiebaud, on display in the DeYoung Museum in San Francisco. Thiebaud was born in SF in 1920.
Dorthea Lange
Iconic photographer Dorothea Lange was born in Hoboken, New Jersey, but moved to San Francisco in 1918. In 1945, she was invited by Ansel Adams to teach at the first fine art photography department at the California School of Fine Arts, now known as San Francisco Art Institute.
Margaret Cho
Comedian Margaret Cho was born in San Francisco in 1968 (same age as me!). She attended San Francisco State University.
There are so many others! Actors either born in or who lived in San Francisco include Lisa Bonet, Benjamin Bratt, Ellen DeGeneres, Clint Eastwood, Tom Hanks, Cheech Marin, Rob Schneider, Alicia Silverstone, Sharon Stone, Robin Williams, Ali Wong, and Natalie Wood. Isadora Duncan, the classic dancer, was born in San Francisco. Filmmakers who were either from or lived in SF include Francis Coppola, Sofia Coppola, George Lucas, and Wayne Wang. A lot of the musicians/bands attributed to San Francisco were not ones I had heard of, but I have heard of 4 Non Blondes, Tracy Chapman, The Charlatans, Counting Crows, Dead Kennedys, Faith No More, Flamin’ Groovies, Michael Franti, the Grateful Dead, Vince Guaraldi, Sammy Hagar, Chris Isaak, Jefferson Airplane, Jefferson Starship, Journey, Kronos Quartet, Huey Lewis, Johnny Mathis, Bobby McFerrin, the Melvins, Metallica, Moby, the Mummies, Graham Nash, Dan the Automator (Dan Nakamura), Liz Phair, Carlos Santana, Sly Stone, and Sid Vicious.
It’s such a creative city. Of course, the super-expensive cost of living is driving a lot of artists away from the Bay Area. It’s a shame that it’s tough for so many to make it here.
I recently watched the documentary Summer of Soul (… or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised), directed by Ahmir (Questlove) Thompson, of Philadelphia band The Roots. Questlove is also a DJ, record producer, and author, among other things–the man seems to have endless talent and energy. If you haven’t seen Summer of Soul yet, do yourself a favor and watch it. (It can be seen in theaters and on Hulu.)
Summer of Soul is about the Harlem Cultural Festival of 1969, which consisted of a series of six outdoor summer concerts in Mount Morris Park (now Marcus Garvey Park), drawing more than 300,000 audience members. Singer Tony Lawrence organized the festival, and it was filmed by television producer Hal Tulchin. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s because the festival footage sat in a basement, largely unseen, until now. Was it just forgotten due to being overshadowed by Woodstock, which happened the same summer, or purposely hidden? Questlove intersperses interviews with concert footage that puts the music in the social and political context of the day and celebrates the power and joy of the performances.
“Me being a DJ is exactly what informed me on how to tell this story,” Questlove said in a virtual press conference for the film. “This isn’t the only story out there. Probably the most shocking thing that I’ve learned in the last month is that there’s about six to seven others. Maybe this film can be an entry, sort of a sea change for these stories to finally get out [and] really for us to acknowledge that … one of the first-ever Black festivals is important to our history.”
You will be treated to never-before-seen concert performances by Stevie Wonder, Nina Simone, Sly & the Family Stone, Gladys Knight & the Pips, B.B. King, Mahalia Jackson, and more. The festival celebrated African American music and culture and promoted Black pride and unity. The documentary was released to rave reviews at Sundance, where it won both the grand jury prize and audience award and subsequently sold for more than $12 million, the biggest price tag for a documentary in Sundance’s history.
For me, the music brought back memories of my childhood in the early 1970s. As a white child growing up in rural Pennsylvania, I didn’t understand much about what was going on in America at the time, nor did I grasp the cultural significance of the music. Today, I see this music and these memories from a different perspective. It’s wonderful that Questlove made this film, which shines a long-overdue light on a groundbreaking musical event and celebrates Black history and culture.
When I was in my late 20s and early 30s, living in Philadelphia, I fancied myself a hipster. Whether I was one or not and whether this was a desirable thing, that was how I saw myself. I no longer do. Not only that, but the trappings of hipsters have changed over time, so, to be honest, I was a little fuzzy on what it currently means to be a hipster and had to Google a bit!
When I think of hipsters in the ’90s, I think of indie music, ratty jeans, ironic t-shirts, Pabst Blue Ribbon, tattoos, messenger bags, and an aloof attitude. The hipster subculture of that era, of which I tried to be a part, was equal parts “cooler than thou” (evidenced by knowledge of obscure films, preferences for obscure music, and shunning of pop–unless it was embraced ironically) and anti-capitalist. Hipsters followed a do-it-yourself ethos, feminist and liberal politics, and intellectualism. They also tried to co-opt some parts of Eastern and Black culture without much multicultural awareness. There was a lot of grunge and punk influence, as well as some leftover Beatnik flavor. I think of the movies Singles and Clerks as pretty emblematic of hipster culture.
The irony that hipsters tried to seem nonconformist in personal style, media choices, lifestyle, and ideas while totally conforming to the subculture rules is not lost on me now, but it was then. But, I suppose any subculture has its norms and rules. A true nonconformist would not adhere to any particular culture, whether it’s “sub-” or mainstream.
Fixed Gear Hipster, from Neatorama.com. And, in case you aren’t sure what “fixed gear is,” it refers to a type of bike favored by hipsters.
When I observe the more recent hipster culture, I see elements of ’90s hipsterism, but with some differences. The do-it-yourself vibe is there (think “artisan” everything), as is the desire to stand out from the mainstream. However, 2000s hipsters have appeared to me to embrace capitalism more by seeking out the eco-friendly product market, technology, product-heavy mustaches and beards, expensive haircuts, and fast fashion (and expensive indie fashion) with a hipster aesthetic. True, thrift stores and DIY fashion have been a part of neo-hipsterism as well, but a lot of the trappings of later hipsters are more commercial than the grungy stuff of the 1990s.
A 2000s hipster. From How to Spot a Hipster by Jeremy Cassar.
I guess I can’t judge myself or others too harshly for jumping on the hipster bandwagon. After all, most of us want to belong to something, and the way we present ourselves can serve as a shorthand to let others know what we’re about. That handlebar mustache says “I make my own pickles and like obscure bands–let’s go shop for vinyl together.” Trying to fit in to a subculture allows you to meet like-minded others who share some of your passions and dislikes.
Me trying to look hipster-y with short shag haircut, striped mock-neck shirt, cutoffs, black platform sandals, and scooter, while on vacation in 1996.
Another 1996 photo in which I am trying to be a hipster, this time with pixie cut, lariat necklace, chunky bracelet, t-shirt and black jeans, and cigar. Some craft beer or PBR was probably consumed this night.
So, if you are a former ’90s hipster, current hipster, wannabe hipster, or hipster hater, you do you. As for me, I don’t know if I fit in to any one subculture or scene and am not trying to. I know that I am no longer a hipster, if I ever was one. But I do still love me a cool PBR from time to time.
Surfers and friends on the seawall bleacher steps of Ocean Beach, 1960s. Photo from Mickey Friedman.
This is probably my last post on the history of Ocean Beach–at least for now. As I said in my most recent post, I found so much information and so many photos, it was hard to narrow it all down. I have a hard time editing myself when it comes to history and pictures! So, this post covers the 1960s to 1980s in San Francisco’s western-most part of town, the Ocean Beach area of the Outer Sunset neighborhood. I imagine only diehard history buffs like me will find this interesting!
The 1960s Things were changing around Ocean Beach in the ’60s. The amusement park Playland was still operating, but it was going downhill. After owner George Whitney had died in 1958, his son, George Jr., took over. George Jr. struggled to make improvements and keep the park going after some of the property was sold to a developer, who had minimal interest in keeping Playland up-to-date. It didn’t help that a ride collapsed in 1963! Nearby Sutro Baths had also lost much of their appeal.
Collapse of a ride at Playland, 1963. Photo from SF Public Library.
Sutro Baths and Skating Rink exterior, early 1960s. Photo from SF Public Library.
Surfing and general beach-going were still very popular, however. Famous wetsuit and surfboard maker Jack O’Neill had opened his first shop in the Outer Sunset neighborhood in the ’50s; the shop moved to a site on the Great Highway, just off Ocean Beach, in 1960 and was there until ’66.
Jack O’Neill’s surf shop on Great Highway, early 1960s. Photo from SF Public Library.
People and surfboards at Kelly’s Cove, the northern part of Ocean Beach near the Cliff House, early 1960s. Photo from Western Neighborhoods Project.
Playland at Great Highway and Fulton Street, early 1960s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp25.2944.
View of Ocean Beach from Sutro Heights in 1963 (left) and 2021 (right). In the 1963 photo, the bleacher steps of the Ocean Beach seawall are visible–now buried in sand. Lurline Pier is still there, but not for long. You can see that the Dutch windmill at the north end of Golden Gate Park is in disrepair. 1963 photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp25.2891. In the 2021 photo, you can see how much wider the beach is–currents result in sand migrating from the south end of the beach to the north end. 2021 photo by Blair J. Davis.
Two 1964 photos: Left, a view south showing the seawall and Playland; photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp25.0145. Right, surfers by a bonfire, with the Cliff House in the background; photo from OpenSFHistory/_wnp25.6441.
In 1964, developers with plans to replace Sutro Baths with high-rise apartments bought the site and began demolition. In 1966, a fire destroyed what was left of the Baths; the city did not pursue the high-rise plans.
Sutro Baths on fire, 1966. Photo from Golden Gate Park Archives.
Sutro Baths after the 1966 fire. Photo from SF Public Library.
Demolition begins on the remnants of Sutro Baths, 1966. Photo from SF Public Library.
Surfers and friends by the Ocean Beach seawall at Kelly’s Cove, 1965. Photo from Western Neighborhoods Project.
Cliff House, late 1960s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp25.2360.
Crane lifts a dead whale off Ocean Beach, late 1960s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0904.
Hippie kids on Ocean Beach, 1969. Photo from David Rubenstein Library.
The 1970s The 1970s were a gritty time in most cities, including San Francisco. San Francisco had gained a reputation in the late ’60s as a haven for hippies and politically radical people. The city was heavily affected by drugs, prostitution, and crime. People who were marginalized elsewhere were attracted to the city by a greater tolerance and acceptance of diverse cultures and lifestyles.
Playland midway, around 1970. Photo from Western Neighborhoods Project.
Ocean Beach bleacher steps in the early 1970s.
A warm 1970s day on the esplanade.
Then and now: Men relaxing on the seawall by Ocean Beach in 1973 (left) and friends by the seawall on a foggy day in 2011 (right). Left photo from Western Neighborhoods Project. Right photo by Blair J. Davis.
After the remains of Sutro Baths were demolished, the area fell into ruins. The ruins are quite picturesque and have attracted visitors for decades. Some scenes of the 1971 film Harold and Maude were filmed there. The former Sutro Baths site became part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area in 1973.
Then and now: Left, a still from the 1971 film Harold and Maude on stairs amidst the ruins of Sutro Baths. Right, the same stairs in December 2020; photo by Blair J. Davis.
Oil spill cleanup on Ocean Beach, 1971. Photo from SF Public Library.
Woman by Cliff House, with view of Ocean Beach, around 1971. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp25.1851.
Another local attraction was gone in the early ’70s: Playland was sold to developers in 1971 and torn down in 1972. Condominiums were later built on the former site.
Playland after being shut down, 1971. The back slope of Sutro Heights can be seen in the background. Photo by Denis Englander.
The roller-skating rink at Playland after it was shut down, around 1971. The back slope of Sutro Heights can be seen in the background.
Closed attraction at Playland, 1972.
Man and kids in the rubble of the closed Playland, 1972.
Playland partially demolished, with transit turnaround in foreground, 1972. The Safeway at left is still there today.
1972 beach scenes. Left, volleyball at Kelly’s Cove; photo from Western Neighborhoods Project. Right, people on the Ocean Beach seawall bleacher seats.
Surfer with broken board at Kelly’s Cove, 1970s; photo from Western Neighborhoods Project.
Graffiti on the seawall, with the decrepit Dutch windmill behind, 1974. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp25.4765.
Drumming and wrestling (or dancing?) by the seawall at the beach, 1975.
People looking at tombstones and other rubble on the beach at Rivera Street, late ’70s. After San Francisco’s graveyards were relocated decades ago, old tombstones, bricks, and pieces of stone were used as a seawall at Ocean Beach. While much of this rubble is covered in sand, at times it emerges. Photo from SF Chronicle.
Surfers and friends by the seawall, 1978. Photo from SF Chronicle.
A crowded 1979 day at Kelly’s Cove, with the Cliff House in the background. Photo from SF Chronicle.
The 1980s The ’80s were a tough time in San Francisco, between the AIDS epidemic and the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. Luckily for those living near Ocean Beach, the area did not sustain as much damage in the earthquake as other parts of San Francisco.
Without Playland and Sutro Baths, the area around Ocean Beach became more sleepy. Surfing continued to be popular, but it would never be as popular as it was in Southern California, due to the cold water and inconsistent surf. People continued to come to the beach, but there was less to do nearby.
Condos being constructed on former Playland site, early 1980s. Photo from SF Public Library.
Motorcyclist in the parking lot by Ocean Beach, 1980. Photo from Ralf K.
Football by Ocean Beach, 1981. Photo from SF Chronicle.
Trolley on Judah Street at Sunset, with a view to the ocean, 1980s. Photo by Peter Ehrlich.
Australian tourists Diana Sotts and Ned Trippe, 1982. Photo by Gary Fong, SF Chronicle.
Teen on a scooter by the beach, 1980s.
Wreckage of the King Phillip on Ocean Beach, 1984. Every so often, a shipweck emerges from the sand. Photo from SF Chronicle.
People dancing in costume in a storm drain structure on Ocean Beach, 1980s. Photo by Frederic Larson, SF Chronicle.
Wrapping Up Well, I hope you have enjoyed this little series of blog posts about Ocean Beach. As someone living near the beach, I have found it very interesting learning about the area’s history.
People on Ocean Beach in front of Playland, 1930s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp70.0936.
Earlier in January, I wrote a post on the early history of San Francisco’s Ocean Beach. I found so many amazing photos and so much interesting history that my post ran too long, so I ended it with the early 1930s. I realized that to share more of the pictures and info I discovered, I would need to do several posts. So, today, we look at the 1930s to the 1950s.
Playland and Nearby Attractions In the 1930s, people continued to flock to the beach and Playland-at-the-Beach from around San Francisco, other parts of the Bay Area, and beyond, despite the hard times of the Great Depression. In fact, Playland continued to expand in the ’20s and ’30s.
Playland Midway in the 1930s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0947.
Cars on the Great Highway by Playland in the late 1930s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp32.0165.
Looking south at Playland and the streetcar terminal, 1937. Golden Gate Park and the Dutch windmill are in the background at left. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0942.
Women (models?) on Ocean Beach in the late 1930s, with the Cliff House in the background. Photo from SF Public Library.
Women frolicking on the beach, 1930s. Photo from SF Public Library.
Family picnic on Ocean Beach, 1930s. Photo from SF Public Library.
George and Leo Whitney, the owners of Playland, had opened Topsy’s Roost in the former Ocean Beach Pavilion building in 1929. This restaurant and nightclub boasted live orchestras and even had slides for patrons to ride down onto the dance floor from the balcony! Unfortunately (but not surprisingly, given the era), Topsy’s decor and advertising included racist stereotypes of Black people. I’ll spare you by not including any photos here. The Whitneys also took over the Cliff House from the Sutro family in 1936.
View of Ocean Beach and Playland from Sutro Heights, 1930s.
In the 1930s, Sutro Baths struggled due to the Depression and changes in public health codes. As the baths became less popular, part of the complex was converted into a skating rink. Swimming continued, but the pools were no longer the gigantic attraction they had been in the late 1800s and early 1900s, when thousands would swim on many days.
Sutro skating rink, 1940s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp37.02156wnp37.02156.
Sutro Baths streetcar depot and exterior of Sutro Baths, 1940s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp14.1472.
Young woman on the beach by Playland, 1940s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp14.4785.
EarlySurfing The late ’30s and ’40s saw some brave people getting into surfing at Ocean Beach. The northern end of the beach near Playland was dubbed “Kelly’s Cove” and was a popular surf spot. According to an article in Surfline, the roots of surfing at Ocean Beach were planted when a handful of lifeguards from Fleishhacker Swimming Pool at Sloat Boulevard and the Great Highway were inspired by their Hawaiian colleagues, Cliff Kamaka and Eddie Eukini, to start bodysurfing and mat surfing. Apparently, surfboards were not used as much at first because most couldn’t withstand Ocean Beach’s harsh shore break and would end up damaged.
Fleishhacker Pool lifeguards, including early surfers Charlie Grimm (far left), Cliff Kamaka (center), and Eddie Eukini (far right). Photo by Anita Kamaka.
Surfers pose at Fort Kelly’s Cove, 1943. Photo from Western Neighborhoods Project.
The ’40s and ’50s Ocean Beach and Playland continued to be popular in the World War II era and the early 1950s. Playland offered service people and their friends a cheap and relatively respectable place to have a good time and was open from noon to midnight.
An Ocean Beach picnic in the 1940s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp26.1274.
View from the Cliff House to Playland, 1940s. Golden Gate Park is in the background. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp25.3024.
Kids on Ocean Beach by Playland, 1940s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp27.2047.
Three images from the 1940s. Left, women lounging on Ocean Beach; photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp26.1267. Center, Bathing Beauties at Playland; photo from SF Public Library. Right, young women by a beach bonfire; photo from SF Chronicle.
Sailors and women, 1945. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp28.1474.
1940s or 1950s, two women on Ocean Beach. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp27.6461.
Ocean Beach in the 1940s. Left, child with dog and woman; photo from SF Public Library. Right, teens relaxing on the beach; photo from SF Chronicle.
View south of Ocean Beach from Sutro Heights Park. On the left, the view from the patio, with statues, in the 1940s; photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0144. Right, same view from the road just below the patio, January 2021; photo by Blair J. Davis.
As I said in my prior post, a makeshift development of retired streetcars, Carville, had popped up along Ocean Beach in the late 1800s. Mainly occupied by poor and working-class residents and Bohemians, it was mostly gone by the 1920s; as property values went up, the city forced the residents out and got rid of most of the streetcar structures. By the ’30s and ’40s, just a few remained, and others became unrecognizable as additions built on covered up the inner streetcar structure.
Woman shows interior of streetcar house near Ocean Beach in 1947; the former “Carville” once occupied the Outer Sunset near what became Playland. Photo from SF Public Library.
1948 aerial view of Ocean Beach and Playland, looking north to Sutro Heights. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0940.
Women on the beach in the 1940s, with the Cliff House in the background. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp70.1116.
Surfing gained more popularity through the ’40s, ’50s, and ’60s, and actual surfboards became the norm, although many got destroyed in the rough waters. Famous surfboard and wetsuit maker Jack O’Neill opened his first shop in the early to mid-1950’s near the Great Highway.
Surfing photos from the 1950s. Left, three men with a board; photo from Western Neighborhoods Project. Center, surfers and friends at Kelly’s Cove; photo from Carol Schuldt. Right, surfing before wetsuits were popular.
Sutro Baths continued to operate in the ’40s and ’50s but never regained its former acclaim. George Whitney bought Sutro Baths in 1952. A Sky Tram was built in the ’50s that took visitors across the Baths basin from Point Lobos to the outer balcony of the Cliff House. There also was an artificial waterfall.
Left, Sutro Baths exterior and view of ocean, 1952. Center, Sutro Baths entrance. Fun for the Day event at Sutro Baths, 1953. All photos from SF Chronicle.
Left, children swimming at Sutro Baths, 1953; photo from SF Chronicle. Right, Sutro Baths Sky Tram in the mid-50s or early ’60s; photo by Ed Bierman.
Playland’s Big Dipper was torn down over safety code concerns and maintenance issues in 1955. Playland owner George Whitney died in 1958, and the park gradually became faded and dingy as families in the city chose suburban destinations for recreation. People continued to trek out to Ocean Beach and the surfing culture grew, but many of the local attractions were becoming less popular and were not kept up in the same way.
Fun on Ocean Beach in the 1950s. Left, a woman in underwear, stockings, and fancy hat; photo from UC Santa Cruz. Right, women frolicking in the surf; photo from UC Santa Cruz.
Left, Vietnamese Delegation of Peace Conference eating on the Ocean Beach seawall, 1951; photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp12.0122. Center, people enjoying the beach, 1952; photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp27.2061. Right, parents and child on a cold day by the Ocean Beach seawall, 1955; photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp28.3045.
Sutro Heights stone patio in the 1950s (at left) and in 2019 (center) and 2021 (right). Left photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0147. Center and right photos by Blair J. Davis.
Toddler on Ocean Beach, with Cliff House in background; photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp12.0108. Family bonfire on the beach; photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp12.0112. Both photos from 1957.
Fisherman trespassing on Lurline Pier, 1958. Lurline Pier protected the intake pipe for the downtown Lurline Baths, which operated from 1894 to 1936. It was removed in the 1960s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp28.3628.
Lincoln Street storm drain on Ocean Beach in 1958 (left) and 2020 (right). It’s now covered with colorful graffiti. Left photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp25.6451. Right photo by Blair J. Davis.
People digging for treasure on Ocean Beach during the Emperor Norton Treasure Hunt. Photo, 1959, by SF Chronicle.
High tide at Ocean Beach, with view of the Lurline Pier, 1959. The seawall used to have bleacher-like steps, which are now buried in sand. Photo from SF Public Library.
Enjoying this trip into the past? Check out my next Ocean Beach history post, which looks at the 1960s through 1980s.
Sunset at Ocean Beach, April 2020. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
One of the things I love about where I live is the proximity to San Francisco’s Ocean Beach, which is at the western edge of the city and is part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. Although it’s an urban beach (and thus not always the cleanest), it’s wide and has gorgeous views of the Marin Headlands to the north and the Pacifica bluffs to the south. There are also a couple cool bird sculptures, and there is a vibrant array of graffiti on the beach seawall.
Due to its geography, the beach has a constant set of waves crashing on the shore, which results in a steady hum, not unlike traffic or TV static. It’s often windy, and the water is quite cold and dangerous, with a strong undertow. Even so, it’s a popular beach for surfers, walkers, kids, joggers, and people walking their dogs. On a sunny day, it’s a lovely place to stroll or sit. Even on cool and/or foggy days, it’s a great place to walk, if you don’t mind the chill.
Ocean Beach has a varied and interesting history. And, if you’ve read any of my other historical blog posts, you know I love to include old photos, so get ready for a bunch of them here (I mean A BUNCH)!
Early History
The San Francisco peninsula was occupied by the Ramaytush Ohlone people. The Yelamu group was a subset of Ramaytush Ohlone who lived in what is now San Francisco. There were probably just 150 to 300 of them in the 1770s. According to anthropologists, the Yelamu and other Ohlone groups arrived in the area between 4000 and 6000 years ago. While one of the Yelamu villages may have spent part of the year in what is now Land’s End (just north of Ocean Beach), it’s unclear if any lived around what is now Ocean Beach.
Watercolor by Louis Choris of two Ohlone men living near Mission Dolores in what is now San Francisco.
The arrival of Spanish explorers and missionaries in the late 1700s threatened the Ohlones’ existence and culture as a result of forced cultural and religious assimilation, exposure to European diseases, and harsh and unsanitary living conditions. Prior to the arrival of the Spanish, there were about 1500 Ramaytush Ohlone across the Bay Area, but by the end the Mission Period, only a few families had survived. Tragically, after the Mexican-American war, when California became part of the Union in 1850, the state government sanctioned the mass genocide of Indigenous people by local militia, further decimating the population.
Early European Settler History
Due in part to its sometimes inhospitable weather (high winds, cold weather, and fog), San Francisco’s western lands, later called the “Outside Lands,” were largely undeveloped by white settlers and Gold Rush “’49ers” in the late 1700s and early 1800s. The area was mostly sand dunes, with a few houses scattered here and there, and a few roads. Local beachgoers and hunters would take day trips to the beach and to the area now known as Land’s End (just north of Ocean Beach) on horseback or by carriage.
The Mid to Late 1800s
The Ocean Beach area gradually drew more visitors as San Francisco grew. Senator John Buckley and C. C. Butler built the first Cliff House restaurant in 1863, just north of Ocean Beach on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific. (There were rumors of an earlier building on that site, but there is no official record, and there are no photos of one.) In 1864, the privately built Point Lobos toll road (which later became Geary Street) made it easier to get to Ocean Beach and the Cliff House, which became very popular. However, by the early 1880s, the Cliff House was not doing as well and was bought by local silver baron Adolph Sutro. Sutro was responsible for many of the area’s attractions, as I’ll describe later.
Woman with parasol on Ocean Beach with original Cliff House in the background, 1885. OpenSFHistory/wnp70.0008.jpg.
In addition to the area’s natural beauty and attractions like restaurants, occasional unexpected events also drew crowds. For example, there were several shipwrecks off Ocean Beach, and locals and tourists alike came to gawk. One early wreck was in January 1878, when the King Philip, a three-masted clipper ship, drifted onto Ocean Beach and was destroyed. The Atlantic had a similar fate in 1886 and the Beebe in 1894. The Neptune met its end on Ocean Beach in 1900, the same year the Olga grounded but was able to be set free by tugboats. There were other shipwrecks as well.
The Atlantic shipwreck off Ocean Beach, 1886. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp37.04132.
The first Cliff House restaurant, built in 1863, seen here from the Sutro Estate in the 1880s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp27.4997.
Women in carriage on Ocean Beach, around 1880. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp37.01652.
Woman and kids on Ocean Beach, with a surprising number of billboards behind them, just below Sutro Heights, around 1890. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp26.1409.
The construction of Golden Gate Park, just east of Ocean Beach, and a steam train line to the area in the late 1800s brought more visitors and development. In the 1880s, Ocean Beach boasted a gravity-powered roller coaster and a pavilion for concerts and dancing. Sutro built a large estate overlooking the Cliff House in the 1880s, with grounds he later made into a public park. He also began work on the Sutro Baths, which opened in 1896, and the Merrie Way Pleasure Grounds, which had a Firth Wheel (similar to a Ferris Wheel), mirror maze, and other attractions. By 1890, there was trolley service to the region, allowing easier access from other parts of the city and spurring the development of a “trolley park,” a picnic and recreation area at the end of the line.
Sutro Baths, 1889, with Firth Wheel in background. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0264.
Ocean Beach Pavillion, 1899. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp130.00003.
In December 1883, the area near the trolley park that would later become the Chutes at the Beach amusement park (later named Playland), saw a short-lived squatter’s settlement sprout up. It consisted of shanties, tents, and lean-tos, and its residents sold coffee, donuts, pie, and liquor to tourists as a way to make money. The San Francisco Park Commission, which had jurisdiction over the beach, asked the squatters, led by Connor “Con” Mooney and anti-capitalist (and anti-immigrant) activist Dennis Kearney, to leave. The residents of “Mooneysville-by-the-Sea” refused, but by the end of January 1884, a band of park employees and police were able to get the shantytown residents to vacate and dismantle their makeshift structures.
Mooneysville, near the Cliff House, 1883. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.
Another unconventional settlement was built near Ocean Beach in the late 1800s: an impromptu development of buildings made from old horse-drawn streetcars that the city sold after cable cars and electric streetcars became the norm. People could buy a retired streetcar for $20 (less if the seats were removed). Some used them for children’s playhouses, offices, and shops, and others, for homes. Sutro (who was then the mayor of San Francisco) owned the largely undeveloped dunes by the north end of Ocean Beach. He rented a lot with a repurposed streetcar to entrepreneur Colonel Charles Dailey and his wife, who opened a coffee shop. The cafe became the nucleus for “Carville,” a colony of former cars. Some people lived in or ran businesses from single cars, and others grouped or stacked two or more cars to form larger structures.
Carville attracted low-income people in search of a cheap place to live, as well as Bohemians. One Carville clubhouse was frequented by writer Jack London, among others. Another club, La Bohème, hosted touring visitors from New York’s Metropolitan Opera. By 1900, the estimated population of Carville was 2000. There was also the Falcons Women’s Bicycling Club, capitalizing on the hot trend of the times: “safety bicycles.”
As the land in the area became more valuable and desirable in the 1910s and ’20s, Carville was dismantled. A few former streetcar structures remain, but most are unrecognizable because they were added on to.
Carville Homes Near Judah Street, 1905. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.1666.
Hand-colored postcard of Carville, showing one-story and three-story buildings, 1905. Photo from OpenSFHistory_wnp70.0817.jpg.
View north and east from near Lincoln Avenue toward Golden Gate Park and Ft. Miley, 1905. Carville homes, residences, and commercial buildings and Park & Ocean Railway waiting depot and rustic bridge in foreground. Golden Gate Park’s Murphy Windmill has not yet been built. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.1663a.
Falcons women’s bicycle club in Carville, late 1800s-early 1900s. Photo from FoundSF.
Another ship-related disaster occurred in 1887: The Cliff House was badly damaged by the massive off-shore explosion of the schooner Parallel. Although the restaurant was repaired, it was later completely destroyed in a fire on Christmas 1894. In 1896, Sutro built a new Cliff House, an elaborate seven-story Victorian chateau, called by some “the Gingerbread Palace.”
1900 to the 1930s
The good times at the beach continued as the twentieth century began, but so did maritime tragedy: Another shipwreck occurred at Ocean Beach in 1902. This time, a ship called the Reporter, ran aground; the captain and crew were rescued, but locals stole a lot of the ship’s cargo of lumber. Like past shipwrecks, the Reporter‘s wreckage drew large crowds.
Although I could not find any photographic evidence, apparently Ocean Beach, like many parts of San Francisco, housed a refugee camp for locals displaced by the devastating 1906 earthquake and fires. With the exception of that period, the beach was primarily a tourist attraction and getaway for local residents wanting a day of fun by the ocean.
Men and women on the rocks, with Sutro’s elaborate second Cliff House in the background, around 1900. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp37.01092.
Second Cliff House, viewed from Sutro Heights Observatory around 1900. Steamer outbound in the background. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0585.
Children enjoying Ocean Beach around 1900, with Lurline Pier, which covered an intake pipe for pumping saltwater to the old Lurline Baths and Olympic Club pools in downtown San Francisco, in background. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0928.
The “Reporter” runs aground on Ocean Beach near Noriega Street, 1902. Photo from OpenSFHistory / wnp4.0902.
Woman and boy on Ocean Beach, 1903, with Cliff House in background. OpenSFHistory_wnp70.0903.jpg
Woman and children by Lurline Pier, 1905. OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0892.
Three women on the dunes, around 1910. I love how happy they look. OpenSFHistory/wnp14.11164.jpg.
At the beginning of the twentieth century, the Olympic Club, a male-only athletic club, hosted an annual New Year’s Day member run and plunge on Ocean Beach. The noncompetitive, festive event featured the men running through Golden Gate Park from Baker Street, changing into bathing suits, and jumping in the brisk ocean. Afterwards, participants usually headed to the Cliff House or one of the other beachside cafes for lunch and drinks. From what I hear, the tradition continued until this past year, when it could not be officially held due to the COVID pandemic.
The Olympic Club New Year’s swim, 1912, Ocean Beach. Photo from OpenSFHistory_wnp15.1071.
After surviving the 1906 earthquake and subsequent fires, the second Cliff House burned down in September 1907. Dr. Emma Merritt, Sutro’s daughter (he had died in 1898), had the restaurant rebuilt in 1909, in a simpler style.
Well-dressed people on Ocean Beach, around 1915, with the third Cliff House in background. OpenSFHistory/wnp14.10110.
Family picnic, 1919, with men sleeping in the background. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp14.11171.
Woman and kids wading, 1910. Photo from OpenSFHistory_wnp14.11169.
Ocean Beach had a few brushes with fame: John “Black Jack” Johnson was an African American boxer who trained at the Seal Rock Inn at Ocean Beach when he had matches in the Bay Area, between 1901 and 1909. He had become the World Colored Heavyweight Champ in 1903 and later became the first Black boxer to hold the World Heavyweight Boxing title (1908–1915). He encountered racism throughout his life and was considered controversial for being outspoken and for dating and marrying several white women. He was said to have beaten his first wife, who later killed herself. Muhammed Ali called Johnson an inspiration and hero for his bravery in defying the racial inequalities of his time.
Boxer Jack Johnson (third from left) and trainers on Ocean Beach, 1910. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp37.02042.
View of Ocean Beach, with Golden Gate Park windmills, 1912. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp27.7783.
People standing on dead whale, 1919. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp70.1113.
In the 1910s, the trolley park expanded, with private business people opening rides, attractions, and food and drink stands. One water ride called Shoot-the-Chutes inspired the first official name for the amusement area, Chutes at the Beach. In 1926, George Whitney became general manager of the growing complex of seaside attractions and changed the name to Playland-at-the-Beach. By the 1930s, Playland took up 3 blocks. Whitney purchased the land the amusement park sat on, as well as the vacant Cliff House restaurant, which he remodeled to turn into a roadhouse.
1920s, Chutes amusement park, with Cliff House and Sutro’s estate (occupied by daughter, Emma, who was elderly and having trouble maintaining it) in the background. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp66.104.
Boys’ Club Day at Chutes at the Beach, 1922. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp66.132.
“Bathing Beauties” at Chutes, 1925. Unclear if these were the famous silent film “Sennett Bathing Beauties” of Southern California or a local group of women. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0994.
Child on stuffed alligator on Ocean Beach, 1925. Not sure what is going on here! Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0907.
Life Saving Station crew, 1920s, with Lurline Pier in background. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp66.024.
Mounted police on Ocean Beach, 1920s. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp66.121.
Women on Playland roller coaster, 1927. OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0943.jpg.
The 1920s and ’30s saw the construction of the Great Highway (opened in 1929) and an explosion of home building in the Sunset and Richmond districts of the city, bordering Ocean Beach. In 1925, the Beach Chalet opened as a city-run restaurant and included changing rooms for beach visitors. However, the prosperous 1920s gave way to the struggles of the Great Depression. Although the ’30s brought the construction of both the Bay Bridge and Golden Gate Bridge, times were tough across the city, including for the businesses on and around Ocean Beach. Yet, they survived, and locals and tourists continued to enjoy the fun of the area.
I’ll leave you with one of the most surprising photos I found. One might assume it never snows in San Francisco, but you’d be wrong! It is rare, but there have been a few reported snowfalls. One occurred in December 1932. Below, you can see snow on the roofs of businesses at Ocean Beach.
People amazed by snow in San Francisco, at Ocean Beach, 1932. Photo from OpenSFHistory/wnp4.0979.
Signing Off
There is so much more history I could write about, and there are so many more interesting old photos I could share, but I fear this post is already way too long for most readers. I get carried away when I start researching local history. I find it so fascinating and especially love finding historic images.
It’s likely I’ll write a “part 2” with Ocean Beach history from the 1940s onward. Stay tuned!
A dear friend who is an American Sign Language interpreter recently shared with me a video of a virtual performance of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol that she helped interpret. I hadn’t read or seen a film version of A Christmas Carol in many years, and I’d forgotten what a touching and timeless story it is.
While A Christmas Carol, a novella written in 1843, was a story of its time, meant to promote understanding of and empathy for the industrial-age urban poor in England, its messages remain salient today. And, there are deeper meanings in its story.
Portrait of Charles Dickens, age 30, painted by Francis Alexander in 1842.
Layers of Meaning
In addition to its more obvious meaning as a story about compassion and charity, the story is also a powerful archetypal tale. It speaks to universal human needs for for meaning and community. What’s more, it illustrates the Jungian “hero’s journey”–Ebenezer Scrooge starts as a flawed, cold, and closed-off man who is transformed as he goes on an odyssey through his past, present, and future.
The Ghosts’ Lessons
The first of the three main motifs in the story, represented by the Spirit of the Past, is a Jungian battle between ignorance/repression (represented in the novella by fog, smog, dusk, and darkness) and awareness (represented by light from fires, candles, street lamps, and the ghost’s flaming crown). Scrooge must go through the pain of seeing his evolution from an innocent youth to a selfish and miserly adult. He begins to realize what he has lost in this process.
The Spirit of the Present brings the story’s second motif–want (represented in the novel by cold, ice, frost, and sleet) versus charity (represented by warmth, being well fed, and fine alcohol). The second spirit allows Scrooge to witness people coming together and bonding. Seeing this brings into the light his own loneliness and aloofness. As his journey continues, Scrooge must start facing his sins and their impact on others to become self-aware. The ghost also shows Scrooge two emaciated children called Ignorance and Want and warns him to avoid Ignorance at all costs.
The second spirit’s lessons help Scrooge bring his dark side further to the surface and begin to integrate his dark and light parts into a cohesive self. It is only after knowing himself that Scrooge would be able to more fully connect with others. The spirit also shows Scrooge Tiny Tim, a cheerful but ill child; this awakens some compassion in the miser. Tiny Tim represents youthful optimism and joy, love, and the promise of what life could be. Scrooge is saddened when the ghost tells him Tim will die.
When the third ghost, the Spirit of the Future, arrives, he is frightening and silent. He forces Scrooge to confront his mortality and the meaninglessness of his life–others don’t care that he dies, steal and sell his possessions, and have few kind words to say about him. The spirit also shows Scrooge that Tiny Tim has died, and people do mourn the loss of this pure little soul.
Scrooge learns that that for his life to have purpose, he must use the lessons learned through his odyssey: He must see all facets of himself and take responsibility for what he’s done to others, he must cultivate emotion and compassion for others, and he must use his wealth to help people. Scrooge has completed the hero’s journey and emerged as a new man.
Salient Lessons for Today
On the surface, we see the lessons Dickens intended for the capitalist upper classes of his time: Scrooge begins to run his business with mercy toward his debtors, give money to the needy, and treat his employees well. These are certainly messages that apply to our current world as well.
The deeper, and also timeless, lesson of Dickens’ tale is for us to live our lives seeking to really know and accept ourselves so that we can fully participate and contribute to the world around us. It is only by rejecting ignorance and denial that we can become integrated humans capable of empathy and connection.
My Wish for You
We’ve gone through a terrible journey of our own in 2020. My wish for anyone reading this post is for a peaceful holiday season and that 2021 brings good things for you, and for all of us. I also wish for you to be able to see and accept yourself as you are while striving to cultivate your higher self. Count your blessings, and share them.
