Hi, dear readers. It’s been a long time since I posted. I seem to go in sporadic waves of inspiration with writing. I wanted to post something today because of a topic that has been coming up a lot in my social media feed: cultural appropriation in dance. Discussions on this subject have been heating up in the past year or so with regard to the style of Raqs Sharqi, or “belly dance,” that I have been studying since 2014, FatChance Style (formerly known as American Tribal Style). Although I am just a hobby dancer, not a teacher or a professional, I take this discussion very seriously.
Me in FatChance Style costume, 2018
What Is Cultural Appropriation?
First off, let me explain what I mean by cultural appropriation (from Google Dictionary):
The action of taking someone’s culture or subculture, typically without asking for permission from those who are culturally or subculturally related or who understand said culture or subculture.
The artistic practice or technique of reworking art (including, but not limited to, dance and movement composition, literary composition, musical composition, and visual arts) in one’s own work.
In discussions about appropriation, typically, we refer to someone from the dominant culture taking something from a non-dominant and/or colonialized culture. There has long been a debate about whether dancers from non-MENAHT (Middle East, North Africa, Hellas [Greece], and Turkey) cultures who study, perform, or teach Raqs Sharqi (and FatChance Style comes out of Raqs Sharqi traditions) are engaging in cultural appropriation. While the debate around FatChance Style is more new (since FatChance dance is a modern fusion style that was only codified in the late 1980s and early 1990s in San Francisco) the overarching issues have been around for hundreds of years. (I won’t get into the whole history of Orientialism here, but it’s important to read about this movement and what is problematic about it. See “Further Reading” for some sources.)
Me in costume for a street performance, 2019
My Place in Belly Dance
As a white American woman of European heritage, I do not have any cultural or family connection to MENAHT cultures, from which much of FatChance Style’s dance moves come (as well as our typical costume pieces and jewelry). I just began doing belly dance because there is a vibrant belly dance scene here in northern and central California, and some friends were taking classes from local teachers. I gave it a try and got hooked. While I have listened closely to the criticisms I have heard about non-MENAHT dancers doing Raqs Sharqi, it’s not easy to make sense of where I stand. I do not want to contribute to oppressing or offending people from MENAHT (or other) cultures, nor do I want to abuse the privilege I have as a white woman who has not experienced the same discrimination or oppression as have people of color and women from many MENAHT cultures. But I also don’t think I believe that a white person can never study and appreciate dance (or other art forms) from cultures that are not their own.
For me, part of figuring this out involves how to be respectful and informed. This includes listening to people from the cultures that inspired my dance form, studying the history and music of MENAHT cultures, and learning more about the cultural aspects of costuming. While I am careful to avoid some of the more obvious forms of appropriation and racism (such as using makeup to appear darker skinned or using an “exotic”-sounding stage name), I wonder, can a white dancer ever really avoid appropriation when participating in this dance culture (or doing yoga, studying other forms of cultural dance, etc.)? Is it wrong for me to wear a decorative bindi? To wear Afghani or Rajasthani jewelry and belts? To dance to traditional MENAHT music? There is no definite agreement among dancers I have talked to about it, including dancers from MENAHT cultures. But, that said, there are certainly a lot of problematic aspects of the dance culture in America, so there is a need for continued examination and evolution.
A well-known article on this subject was written by Randa Jarrar, an American woman with Egyptian and Palestinian parents, who grew up in Kuwait, Egypt, and the United States, for Salon.com. She takes the stance that white women who belly dance are always engaging in cultural appropriation. In a different article, Jarrar noted that it’s not simply that MENAHT people want to protect belly dance; it’s that they protest “… the right [of white people] to take anything they want and not be criticized for it.” I can certainly understand that point. In addition, the belly dance community has been criticized for not making the environment more inclusive for people of various genders and for Black dancers.
These issues are ones I will be pondering as I continue to examine my position as a white dancer in this world. I hope I can continue to learn and perform this form of dance without believing I am doing harm. If I do come to the conclusion that I can’t avoid doing harm, I would need to find a new hobby and passion. But for now, I will continue to do my best to navigate this dance form while educating myself about its roots and impacts.
Further Reading
Çelik, Z. (1992). Displaying the Orient: Architecture of Islam at Nineteenth-Century World’s Fairs. Berkeley: University of California Press.
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!
Every so often (more now that I am getting older), I feel a twinge of …. something … when I think of the past. Maybe it’s when I’m thinking of an old flame, remembering an experience from childhood, or reminiscing about a carefree moment in my 20s: Along with the memory comes a feeling that is akin to emotional pain. Yet, it’s not altogether unpleasant–there is happiness mixed with the sadness. This is nostalgia.
My dad and me, 1968.
What Is Nostalgia?
According to Wikipedia, the word nostalgia comes from a Greek compound of nóstos (homecoming) and álgos (pain or ache) and was coined by a 17th-century medical student to describe a psychological disorder displayed by Swiss mercenaries at war away from home. At that time, nostalgia was considered a serious and even possibly fatal (due to suicide) form of extreme homesickness. It was seen as a form of melancholy, a term used to define what we now call clinical depression.
Family holiday gathering, 1973.
Nostalgia is not just the act of remembering the past, it also involves yearning for it. The yearning can feel both “positive” and “negative,” although I don’t like to label emotions in this way.
As I said, I have noticed that I experience nostalgia more often now that I am in my 50s than I did when I was younger. It seems that nostalgia is a condition more common in older age–it’s rarer for children, teens, and young adults to wish to go back to an earlier time in their lives than it is for older people. This makes sense, as we begin to experience the physical decline of aging and often must take on more responsibility (e.g., career, family) as we age so may look back on our younger, stronger, healthier, and perhaps more carefree selves.
What Is Nostalgia For?
One of the aspects of nostalgia I have noticed is that it has a physical sensation to it–it’s not just emotional or cognitive. I feel it most in my chest and stomach. It’s hard to define specifically, but it’s similar to a sad feeling one might get watching an emotional movie. So, it definitely has a flavor of sorrow, but it also feels sort of good. And, in fact, the current view on nostalgia is that it has some emotional and cognitive benefits: some psychological experts feel that experiencing nostalgia can improve mood, increase social connectedness, enhance positive self-regard, promote self-growth, and provide existential meaning.
Decorating the tree on Christmas Eve, 1989, with my mom.
However, some nostalgia can be personally or socially harmful. A negative form of nostalgia is having an overly romantic and idealized view of the past; for example, some Americans consider the 40s and 50s “the good old days” because the economy was strong and many middle-class white families were doing well. However, this sort of nostalgia is a form of denial, overlooking the fact that this time in U.S. history also involved the social oppression of and barriers to people of color, women, and many others. It can also be a form of privilege or insular thinking–only looking at one’s own past in a bubble and not in the context of larger society.
Being blind to the layers of the past hinders us from moving forward and improving our social systems. And using denial and avoidance of our own difficult past experiences or emotions can result in unresolved feelings and emotional numbing or stunting.
NostalgiaTriggers
I felt some nostalgia this holiday season, the first since my mother’s death and the first I have not spent back East with family, due to COVID making travel risky. I’ve also had some strong nostalgic feelings when looking at old photos, hearing old songs, or thinking about past fun times and trips. It’s such a strange mix of feelings.
Tahiti vacation with BFFs Laurie and Cathy in 1996.
Certain smells and songs can be powerful nostalgia triggers. One reason smell is so evocative is that it’s the sense with the most direct path into the brain. Also, the region of the brain that processes smell is closely connected to the regions that are involved with memory and emotion, the hippocampus and amygdala.
And I’m sure we’ve all had the experience of music waking up strong, vivid memories. Various studies in the late 2000s and early 2010s found that listening to music engages broad neural networks in the brain, including brain regions responsible for motor movement, emotions, and creativity. Like the brain regions responsible for smell, those processing music are connected to the areas involved with feelings and memory.
Summer fun with friends Rachel, Mia, and Vanessa, 2001, in Philadelphia.
Looking Ahead
Today is New Year’s Day 2021, the start of a (hopefully) better year after a very painful, challenging, and anxiety-provoking 2020. It’s a natural time to reflect on the past as well as look to the future. Today, I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic about my mom, about all the things I used to enjoy doing that were not possible or had to be seriously altered in 2020 (e.g., getting together with friends or family, going to restaurants or bars, seeing live performances, visiting museums and galleries, traveling), and about other memories. Allowing ourselves to feel nostalgia and to reflect is important. In addition to the benefits nostalgia can bring our minds and hearts, reflection gives us the chance to take stock and decide what we want to carry with us into a new year and what we want to let go of or alter.
In San Diego with cousins Jill and Elizabeth, 2010.
Wishing all a happy New Year and a better year ahead!
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.
Some of my friends have been getting together every Friday night for years to have a “listening party.” Each party has a theme (e.g., time, overthrow of the king, murder, gratitude), and all the participants come ready with ideas of songs, artists, or albums that fit (sometimes loosely) the theme. The host acts as DJ, giving each person a turn to suggest a song, which he plays.
In these days of COVID, the party is held through Zoom. It’s still a lot of fun. I wasn’t one of the old-timers of this party, just attending here and there, but lately I’ve been going each week. Zoom gives me a chance to participate when normally it would be hard to, since I’ve moved away from the town where most of these friends live. It’s a fun way to keep in touch, relax on a Friday evening, share music I like with friends, and hear different music.
In noticing the various genres that each friend likes, I was pondering why we tend to gravitate toward certain types of music. Like most things, there isn’t just one reason. It’s a fascinating topic: How does our individual psychology mesh with culture, society, and experience to shape our musical preferences?
How We Think Shapes Our Music Preferences A study of more than 4,000 participants led by Cambridge University psychologist David Greenberg and colleagues found a correlation between people’s thinking styles and musical preferences. The study divided the subjects into three categories: empathizers (Type E), who focus on people’s thoughts and emotions; systemizers (Type S), who focus on rules and systems; and balanced types (Type B), who focus equally on both areas. (What type do you think you are? I think I am Type B.)
In the study, Greenberg and colleagues reviewed the results of the interviews and found that Type E thinkers tended to like low-energy songs with emotional depth, including sad songs, and genres like soft rock and singer-songwriters. Type S thinkers tended to prefer more intense and structured music like heavy metal or avant-garde classical music. Type B personalities tended to display a broader range of preferences than either of the other types.
Photo by Mickel Emad.
Prior research suggests that listening to sad music can stimulate the pituitary gland to produce prolactin, which induces calmness and relaxation and is also related to empathy. This is probably more true for Type E people, who may have a larger than average hypothalamic region in the brain, the area governing the pituitary. Other studies show that listening to mellow music can stimulate the production of the hormone oxytocin, which promotes feelings of love, social bonding, well-being, and calm.
In Type S personalities, evidence suggests that the areas of the brain that regulate analytic thought (the cingulate and dorsal medial prefrontal areas) are larger. Type S people were shown to pay more attention to the structure and patterns of music, as well as instrumentation, rather than the emotions.
How Personality Type Factors In There is also research examining the link between personality types and music genre preferences. One study used the Five Factor Model of analyzing personality types (the qualities are conscientiousness, extroversion, openness, agreeableness, and neuroticism) to see if it fit with music choice. The study found that people who are more open to new experiences liked a wider variety of music, and tended to be drawn to classical music, blues, jazz, and folk music. People in this category tend to be emotional, imaginative, and artistically sensitive, as well as intellectually curious. Extraverts tended to like popular music. An earlier, similar, study also found that extroverts often are drawn to higher-energy and rhythmic music.
One Canadian study found that certain personality traits relate to musical taste in adolescents: Young people with lower self-esteem and a higher sense of alienation were more drawn to “heavy” music, and those who tended to focus on rule-following and have trouble being independent preferred “light” music. Adolescents who felt relatively secure and confident tended to have more eclectic musical preferences.
Additional Factors in Musical Preference Gender plays a role in why we like certain music. According to some research, female gender is associated with a more emotional response to music and a tendency to prefer pop. Male gender is correlated with liking exaggerated bass in music.
Age is an additional factor. Not surprisingly, young people are often more open to new music and more likely to listen to what’s contemporary, compared with older people, who often are drawn to music they liked when they were younger. Musical tastes also change over the lifespan.
History, Culture, and Experience Also Affect Music Taste We don’t exist in a vacuum. Our thinking and personality styles are in part shaped by genetics but also by environment. This includes our family, peers, and larger culture and community. For instance, psychology research shows that people are drawn to the familiar. Thus, some of our musical taste is shaped by what we hear as children and young adults.
A 2016 study published in Nature found that hundreds of years’ of learned behavior factor into why we prefer certain styles of music. This study looked specifically at music with consonant intervals (e.g., using octaves) versus that which is dissonant (e.g., using tritones). Consonant intervals generally sound brighter and feel more “resolved.” Dissonant intervals, on the other hand, tend to sound harsher and unfinished. People from Western cultures strongly prefer consonant music. The study found that people from non-Western cultures with no exposure to Western music equally enjoyed consonant and dissonant music. This research disproved the previously believed theory that preference for consonant music is biologically determined and universal. Thus, over time, our culture shapes what sounds pleasing and familiar to us.
We are also drawn to certain genres because of what it says to and about us; for example, we may listen to music from our racial or ethnic culture or the geographical region where we grew up. According to some studies, music preferences are also influenced by how an individual wants to be perceived–the music a person chooses is a form of self-expression and a reflection of conscious and unconscious identity traits. This was found to be more true for males than for people of other genders. Thus, we are drawn to music that represents something we relate to, such as intelligence (e.g., classical music, jazz), rebellion (e.g., heavy metal, countercultural folk music, punk), or a certain subculture (e.g., rockabilly, bluegrass, goth).
Images from James Mollison’s book The Disciples, a visual study of musical subcultures. Top: Missy Elliott fans. Middle: The Cure fans. Bottom: Sex Pistols fans. Artist website: https://www.jamesmollison.com/.
Music choice is also personal–we associate certain songs or bands with a memory or a person. For instance, maybe our first love was into a particular band. We may begin listening to that band as a way to get closer to our partner, but eventually, we grow to love the band–even after the relationship is over. Haven’t you ever heard a song start playing that reminds you of high school dances or your twenties or a favorite vacation and instantly start to feel good?
It’s fascinating to think about all of these factors. In the end, though, why we listen to what we listen to may not matter a whole lot. It’s the experience and richness of music that we care about, regardless of how we got there.
After a weekend walk around San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, I wanted to learn more about its history. All I really knew about it was that it became a bohemian haven in the late 1960s and has morphed into a more commercial version of its hippie past since then. It’s a place that has lots of murals and other interesting street art: stencils on the sidewalks, colorfully painted homes and businesses, eye-catching window displays, and more. Even now during the COVID pandemic, the area has some life and vibrancy as people window shop and hang out on Haight Street. And sadly, like many areas of San Francisco, it has a lot of homeless people and other folks who are down on their luck.
Colorful building on Haight Street, November 2020. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
Sign for the Wasteland consignment shop on Haight Street, November 2020. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
Early History
The earliest people who lived in the region that is now San Francisco were Native Americans, the Ramaytush Ohlone, who were part of a larger group of the Ohlone/Costanoan peoples. The land where Haight-Ashbury now lies was mostly sand dunes and was not a hospitable area for Native Americans to settle. The Spanish who came later to what is now California did not gravitate to this part of the region either, with its sandy expanses and often cool, foggy weather.
Nineteenth Century Development
The 1849 Gold Rush brought American prospectors and settlers to the region, where the original small town of Yerba Buena, later named San Francisco, rapidly grew. Like the Ohlones and Spanish before them, the Forty-Niners didn’t settle in most of the central and western parts of what is now San Francisco, including the future site of Haight-Ashbury. In addition to the sandy soil and fog, the area was not convenient to the waterfront, where most of San Francisco’s early growth occurred. Over time, some farms and “ranches” and a few scattered houses dotted the land that is now the Haight.
An 1864 map of San Francisco, looking west from the waterfront. I’ve circled what I think is the current site of Haight-Ashbury in red.
The development of Golden Gate Park in the 1870s brought more visitors and residents to central and western parts of San Francisco. By the 1880s, cable cars made travel through what is now Haight-Ashbury easy. Many cable car lines to Golden Gate Park terminated at or near the main pedestrian entrance to the park at Haight and Stanyan streets. With the influx of visitors, pool halls, taverns, restaurants, livery stables, hotels, boarding houses, bicycle shops, and other businesses sprang up near the intersection. Cable car lines and better land grading and building techniques of the 1890s and early 20th century allowed Haight-Ashbury to grow into a suburban residential upper middle class homeowners’ district, with a few pockets of large homes of the rich and elite.
Golden Gate Park entrance, looking north at cable car line, some time between 1889 and 1894, Stanyan and Haight Streets. Photo: OpenSFHistory.org wnp37.03316.
Early attractions in the neighborhood were The Chutes, an amusement park located on Haight Street between Cole and Clayton streets between 1895 and 1902, and the Haight Street Grounds stadium, built for California League baseball, which opened in 1887. In addition to League baseball games, the Grounds also hosted football games for University of California, Berkeley, and Stanford University in the early 1890s, before either had their own stadiums. The Grounds hit hard times with the Depression of 1893 and closed in 1895. The land was sold and redeveloped for residences.
Postcard of The Chutes, date unknown.
An 1893 real estate map of the Haight-Ashbury area looking south from The Panhandle park. The Grounds can be seen just left of center. Golden Gate Park is to the right. Photo from the Barry Lawrence Ruderman Map Collection, Stanford University.
1900 to Mid-Twentieth Century
Haight-Ashbury was one of the few neighborhoods of San Francisco spared from the devastating earthquake and subsequent fires of 1906. Many people who lived elsewhere in the city who were displaced from their homes found shelter in the Haight in hotels on Stanyon Street. Less fortunate families stayed in tent villages in Golden Gate Park and The Panhandle. Many of these refugees decided to make the Haight-Ashbury their permanent home. A post-earthquake building boom saw the creation of many new residences, often tract houses and flats built for the lower-middle and middle classes.
1906 refugees at Page and Stanyan streets. Photo from FoundSF.org.
An 1891 photo of a block of five tract houses at the corner of Page and Ashbury streets (shown from behind, as viewed from Oak Street). Photo copied from Hoodline.com.
By the 1910s, the Haight had many businesses, street car lines, schools, and hospitals and was a vibrant community. In 1924, a San Francisco columnist wrote “There is a comfortable maturity about the compact little city that San Francisco knows as Haight Ashbury. … just weathered enough to be nice, and new enough to be looking ahead to the future.” However, the good times didn’t last, as the Great Depression of 1929 to 1939 brought hardship. Many Haight-Ashbury residents with means moved to the suburbs. The bad economy, along with redlining in San Francisco, contributed to further decline of the Haight. Many of the old homes were divided into flats or converted into boarding houses, and by the ’40s and ’50s, much of the neighborhood was in disrepair, with some buildings vacant.
Haight Street between Ashbury and Clayton, looking west, 1944. Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library.
The Birth of the Haight’s Boho Culture
In the 1950s, a freeway was proposed that would have run through The Panhandle, but public protests in the ’50s and early to mid ’60s prevented the project from happening. Because the nearby Haight area was already economically depressed and became more so due to fears of how a freeway would impact the neighborhood, cheap rents and vacant properties attracted ’50s beatniks and, later, artists and hippies. This burgeoning alternative culture flourished. By the mid-1960s, the Haight’s counterculture brought nationwide media attention.
The first ever head shop, Ron and Jay Thelin’s Psychedelic Shop, opened on Haight Street in 1966. The Thelins felt that psychedelic drugs were they key to peace and equality and that people needed a supportive, positive environment in which to experience them. The Psychedelic Shop would be that place. Because of the Haight’s widespread drug use, “Gonzo” journalist Hunter S. Thompson labeled the area “Hashbury” in a New York Times Magazine article. The Haight was alive with musicians and other creatives, such as Jefferson Airplane, Big Brother and the Holding Company, The Grateful Dead, and actor Peter Coyote, who in the ’60s was a member of “The Diggers,” a local anarchist activist group that did street theater.
The Grateful Dead on Haight Street in the late ’60s.
Haight Street in the ’60s. Photo from Buzzfeed.
Inspired by the Diggers’ activism, a group of University of California, San Francisco medical students opened the Haight-Ashbury Free Clinic. The clinic, which was the first nonsectarian free medical clinic in the United States, declared health care a right for all and also helped transform how drug addiction is treated. The clinic still serves the uninsured today. Similarly, the nearby Huckleberry House (founded in 1967 and still operating) transformed how support services are provided to homeless young people.
The Summer of Love, in 1967, attracted a wide range of people to Haight-Ashbury, including teenagers and college students drawn by the dream of a countercultural utopia, spiritual groups, runaways, middle-class tourists, and even partying military personnel from nearby bases. College students with no intention of “dropping out” played hippie for the summer. Hundreds of young runaways wandered the streets. The Haight could not accommodate the rapid influx of people, and the neighborhood scene quickly deteriorated.
The “Death of the Hippie” street theater event and procession put on by The Diggers and Psychedelic Shop owner Ron Thelin, 1967. Haight residents were upset by the widespread media coverage of the hippie movement and the infiltration of Haight-Ashbury by so many new people. According to Thelin, “It must all go—a casualty of narcissism and plebeian vanity. … [Haight-Ashbury] was portioned to us by the media-police, and the tourists came to the zoo to see the captive animals, and we growled fiercely behind the bars we accepted, and now we are no longer hippies and never were.”
By the early 1970s, Haight-Ashbury had said goodbye to many of the early creatives and hippies. Through the ’70s, the Haight saw urban blight, prostitution, hard drugs, and street violence while still retaining an air of bohemian nostalgia. The late ’70s saw many gay San Franciscans and others buying and fixing up cheap properties in the Haight, bringing new life to the area. Sami Sunchild obtained ownership of The Red Victorian, a historic building on Haight Street that Sunchild transformed into The Red Victorian Bed and Breakfast Peace Center, a B&B and spiritual center. Today, the Red Vic is a hostel, cafe, and residence.
The “Red Vic” in 2008. Photo by Bernard Gagnon.
The 1980s brought more commercial prosperity to the Haight, with new boutiques, used clothing stores, coffee shops, bookstores, and galleries that peddled sixties nostalgia to college students and tourists. The area also became an epicenter for the San Francisco comedy scene when The Other Café became a full-time comedy club and helped launch the careers of Robin Williams, Whoopie Goldberg, and Dana Carvey, among others.
Sadly, the AIDS epidemic of the ’80s and early ’90s resulted in many of the Haight’s gay residents dying or leaving, leaving Haight businesses to cater to a younger and straighter clientele. The ’80s also saw skinheads as a presence in the Haight. Through the 1980s and ’90s, the rave and alternative music scenes took off and influenced the culture of Haight-Ashbury. A long-time neighborhood attraction has been Amoeba Records on Haight Street near Stanyon. The business, which became one of the most famed independent music retailers in the world, was founded with a store on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley in 1990; the Haight store, a former bowling alley, opened in 1997.
Amoeba Records on Haight Street, fall 2019. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
The Haight Today
In the recent past, Haight-Ashbury has been a busy area with both vibrant businesses and a gritty, grungy feel, popular with both tourists and residents, especially teens and young adults. The area pays homage to its alternative history with thrift stores, world goods boutiques, and vintage shopping, but it also has chain stores, restaurants, and bars. It still attracts runaways and the homeless. Like most parts of San Francisco during the COVID pandemic, the Haight has been quieter than usual, with nonessential businesses closed for months, some forever. What the Haight of the post-COVID era will be remains to be seen.
Shop with colorful paint at Haight and Ashbury streets, November 2020. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
A head shop on Haight Street, November 2020. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
‘Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch. A fearful thing to love, to hope, to dream, to be– to be, And oh, to lose. A thing for fools, this, And a holy thing, a holy thing to love. For your life has lived in me, your laugh once lifted me, your word was gift to me. To remember this brings painful joy. ‘Tis a human thing, love, a holy thing, to love what death has touched.
In memory of my mother, Martha “Penny” Davis, born September 1940 and died September 2020.
Last weekend, I made an art piece using a reclaimed barn wood board and some heart milagros. For anyone not familiar with milagros, they are small charms, usually made of mixed metals, tin, silver, gold, or other materials. They are traditionally used as votive objects on shrines and altars for prayer and healing in Mexico, other Latinx countries, and parts of the United States. Milagro usage in North, Central, and South America comes from ancient Iberians who inhabited the coastal regions of Spain. In addition to their use in prayer, milagros may also be carried for good luck and are sometimes used as decorative embellishments on mirrors, picture frames, and other items.
The heart milagro represents the healing of heart-related illnesses or gratitude for such healing, but it can also represent love, general healing, and gratitude. I chose heart milagros because I felt I could use a reminder to have gratitude, and although I am not a religious person, it can’t hurt to focus on love and healing, right?
I had already purchased the barn wood a few months ago to have something on which to paint things for my garden. I got the wood from a seller on Etsy, and I got the milagros from another Etsy shop.
Milagros are often attached to wood using small nails, as they typically have a hanging loop; however, I decided to use Gorilla Glue, since I didn’t have nails that were small enough to fit through the holes. It took a few tries to get the arrangement of the milagros the way I wanted. I finished it up by attaching hanging hardware on the back. I was happy with the final result!
Now, when I see my milagro art, I think about the things for which I am grateful. I also reflect on my health and that of my loved ones and wish for good health for all of us. It also reminds me to appreciate love in all its many forms. Wishing love, healing, and gratitude to all of my readers!
The finished milagro art piece, hung with two mixed media pieces by Santa Cruz artist Bridget Henry.
