One End of the Bridge to the Other

My dear departed grandmother, Genevieve, was the last of us Sellmans to live in San Francisco. My dad decided to move her out of her Pacific Heights apartment back in the early 1990’s so she could live closer to us in the East Bay. Before that, there had always been a member of our Sellman family living in the city since about the 1880's. That’s why I like to think of myself as having San Francisco blood in my veins though I was born in Oakland. Maybe it’s more of an inherited state of mind than an actual birth right.

My brothers and I never called her grandma, or granny, or Nana, or any other grandmotherly cute name. She didn’t want us to, so we didn’t. She insisted on Genevieve. And who could argue. That was her name, after all. So, Genevieve it was!

I remember driving over to the city for dinners at Gen’s apartment on Christmas and Easter and birthdays. When I was young, I loved driving across the Bay Bridge. I still do. I remember driving through the tunnel near the Treasure Island turnoff, leaving what I call the "bird cage" part of the bridge and seeing the looming, gargantuan spires of the bridge appear on the other side. The feeling of leaving the drabby ol’ East Bay and entering the larger-than-life city by the bay can’t really be compared to anything! It’s just something worth experiencing.

As cliche as it sounds, driving into the city was like driving into a majestic realm that was a mix of history (or “old things” as I called it back then), nostalgia, family domain and a slight hint of glamour. Today, driving into San Francisco is more like entering a foreign planet. The spires of the Bay Bridge, however, still have that same charm and romance as they did back when I was a kid.

*San Francisco skyline as seen from the Bay Bridge

Driving back from the city on the lower deck of the bridge was just as great. The speckle of the city lights contrasting the night sky was hypnotizing. The image was so impressive; I used to draw pictures of it with my crayons when I was in kindergarten. If I still had my crayons, I’m sure I would still draw pictures of San Francisco at night. The glow of those lights was probably my first taste of night life. Completely irresistible!

The electric glamour was a temptation to my young boy mind to hurry and grow up and jump into what the city had to offer. Fortunately, I never did take that plunge, but the city lights still beckon me. I can look but I can’t touch. It’s better that way. The glow of those city lights blinds onlookers to what’s laying on the surface streets below the buildings. People who jump into city nights either end up poor and downtrodden, or rich and downtrodden.

But the bridge is still magnificent to look at. However, it has a romance about it that can be deceiving. It runs right into the palpitating heart of San Francisco and doesn’t give much direction as far as right and wrong are concerned. It leaves motorists with the freedom to choose their own destination once they cross over the city limits. What you choose to do in San Francisco is up to you. Just don’t expect the majestic Oakland Bay Bridge to point you in the right direction. The sight of it as you drive over it can very easily lead you towards one thing or another depending on your state of mind. The bridge never did fool me. I had my grandmother living in the city to listen to once I crossed the bridge.

One Against the Rock

No One Ever Escapes Alcatraz

Alcatraz- another part of the historic richness of San Francisco. Decaying from the salty bay mist, I personally think that it's the most mysterious of prisons in the country. Being an island certainly makes it so. It's the Devil's Island of the bay area.

There have been several escape attempts from Alcatraz. Some escapees were caught before leaving the island while others were found dead in the bay.

*The most violent escape attempt, called the "Alcatraz blastout" or the "battle of Alcatraz", took place in 1946. Six inmates overpowered cell house officers and gained access to weapons in an attempt to escape. The stand-off lasted from May 2-4, ending with the U.S. Marines assisting authorities. Eighteen officers were injured in the battle. My dad can remember standing on the shore and hearing the shots fired by officers on the island.

The one escape everyone hears about is the most mysterious of any escape attempt. It took place June 11, 1962. Three inmates, Frank Morris and brothers John and Clarence Anglin, made an intricate escape route through the prison walls using homemade drills to enlarge vent holes. They constructed plaster coverings to disguise their holes from guards. They also constructed paper mache masks with human hair taken from the prison barber shop to place on their pillows to elude guards into thinking they were fast asleep.

They made life vests and a raft out of raincoats to float across the cold bay during the cover of night.  Later in the morning, the raincoats along with some personal belongings were found in the water but the inmates were long gone. No sign of them were discovered. Clint Eastwood made the escape famous in his movie, Escape from Alcatraz.

The rock has also incarcerated some of the most menacing names in criminal history. Al Capone spent four and a half years in Alcatraz. George "Machine Gun" Kelly spent 17 years behind Alcatraz's bars. Robert Stroud, "The birdman of Alcatraz", I think is the prison's most famous inmate. He was transferred to the rock from Leavenworth prison in  Kansas and spent 17 years on the rock, six of which were in segregation. Burt Lancaster played Stroud in the 1962 film Birdman of Alcatraz.

These are various snaps I took of Alcatraz. I visited the prison once years ago, but each visit to San Francisco I make, I make sure to stand at the end of Pier 39 and gaze out towards the rock. The urge to take a picture of it each time I see it is hard to resist.

*www.alcatrazhistory.com

Even Oakland has Sanctuary

*St. Margaret Mary's Catholic Church: Oakland, Cal.

It was too dark outside, even for an overcast day. It was 4:30 in the afternoon and mass started at five. Usually, the old ladies came in first about an hour before mass. They had their rosaries to pray and since they didn't have jobs to get off from, they could make it early. Others were either getting off work just in time for mass or hoping off the 54 bus which dropped them off at the stop on the corner.

I don't remember what I did earlier that day. I just remember I couldn't get past the darkness outside. It was surreal. Even summers had over cast cold days. Oakland could get just as cold in the summer as San Francisco could. Nothing outside made a sound as I walked towards the greystone church with heavy oak doors.

I yanked on the brass door handle exherting force to open the door. I expected to be greeted by the feeling of refreshment from the burdens of my life in the world. The vestibule was empty and dark. The damp church smell of stale incense and dusty bees wax candles filled my nose. That was the only thing that was familiar as I entered the church I had been a part of for the past year or two.

There was no refreshment inside. The familiar spiritual sense of sanctuary was gone. I wondered, as I walked into the vestibule, if it had ever really been there before. I was used to it so it had to have been there before.

I looked into the church through the clear cross on the frosted glass of the doors leading from the vestibule to the interior. The pews were in unison like soldiers before a leader. No votive candles were lit inside. The lights were out. The entire church was empty. No old people praying their rosaries or thumbing through old devotional books they must have had since they were children. I thought that opening the door and walking into the holy presence would refresh me from my burdens. The interior of the church was so dark, but I could still see.

By this time, there should have been at least a few pious souls praying before God. Mass was suppose to begin soon. There was no priest and no altar boys scurrying around the altar to get things ready. The sanctuary was bear. The pews were completely empty. The statues were absent. I couldn't sense a holy presence in the least. It did not feel like church. But as I crossed the barrier from the vestibule, there was a presence.

I realized that I wasn't walking at all. I was floating. My floating seemed both willing on my part yet through no effort of mine. I floated straight towards the sanctuary. The dark deep red carpet underneath me seemed dull. The white stone walls and pillars didn't glow like they normally did. And in their shadows, small imps or devils, apprehensive and intolerant, hid themselves from me.

I didn't see a sanctuary lamp letting the world know that the creator was there. The darkness wasn't scary- it was sad.

I stopped floating just as I came to the front of the sanctuary. It was blockaded by a communion rail which I wouldn't have dared cross under any circumstance. I wouldn't have dared stepped over if I was control my own motion. I turned to my left and began to float over the pews towards a stained glass window.

A bishop dressed in white garments standing by a pillar was portrayed in the window. I couldn't see his face but I knew this image was looking right at me. His face was too bright to see its features. Though I didn't know who he was, I knew he was a bishop. I expected him to step out of the window. I wasn't scared at the sight of him doing so.

Though still suspended, I crawled up to him and cowered behind his robes. I wouldn't leave him and I knew he wasn't going to push me aside. The thought didn't even occur to me. He wanted me where I was and I knew I was supposed to stay.

My burdens lifted and the presence of holiness was there. I don't recall leaving the church but I do recall not leaving the bishops side. The thought hasn't ever occured to me, nor will it ever.


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St. Margaret Mary's is where I first attended the traditional Catholic mass. My dad took me there as a child from time to time, but it didn't make much of an impression. It wasn't until my parents divorce that it finally did. Since then, I;ve drawn to it like a bug is drawn to light.

It's where a lot of Catholics in the Bay area became found tradition. And many of those Catholics have gone on to spread the fruits they received.

A lot of people owe a great deal to Fr. Vladamir Kozina, the former pastor of St. Margaret Marys, who started the traditional mass in Oakland back in the mid to late 80's.

Pictured here in vestments is Fr. Kozina. He was a dear friend to my grandfather, Felix Bongiorno, and was the first priest ever to make me realize just how necessary being Catholic is.

Next to him is the current pastor of St. Margaret Marys, Fr. Stanislaw Zak.

Fr. Zak brought my grandfather back to the church after he had been absent from her for over 30 years. He heard my grandfather's death bed confession and had made sure all his spiritual necessities were met before he parted our company. I'm forever grateful to Fr. Zak and to Fr. Kozina.

*Photo taken from www.stmargmaryoak.org/photos.htm

Working for a Living

Formally on their Payroll...

This is the worst place to have a Starbucks. It's also the best place to have a Starbucks.

Starbucks, Montclair! This was once the site of Boudin's Bakery. It was also the first coffee shop I worked for. The basic clientele were rich folks who had the money but probably couldn't tell a good cup of coffee from a mud brewed with hose water.

This was a tiny store. While I worked there, the manager would often over staff and the tiny little area behind the cash register would be packed with baristas in green aprons wandering around wondering what they should do. There was never any room back there to swing a cat. Fortunately, nobody brought cats to work so that wasn't something we worried about.

Still, Montclair has slowly grew into a hodgepodge to trendy stores and such. Hence, a Starbucks fits right in.

I worked here from August 2002 to August 2003. Working here, I met some very strange strangers. Rich people have a personality all their own. I recall, rolling my eyes with a smirk on my face, the time a lady wasn't happy with her venti sized caramel frappucino because it, "didn't look like the frappucino in the advertisement."

I also recall the hot summer day when everybody and their grandmother decided to come in for good, sugary frappucino goodness…all at the same time. It was also at that precise hour that our manager decided to take her break. The only two baristas on the floor were myself and another girl. But, did the customers appreciate anything? No! As plastic cups lined the espresso machine, cash register and two blenders that were revving like Marlon Brando and James Dean on motorcycles, we baristas were bombarded with, “where’s my frappucino? I ordered five minutes ago. Money may cause people to see only themselves and anything that pertains to them, even over priced food items. It surprised me how many pointy headed customers couldn’t see all the cups we were trying to fill.

On top of that, there was the occasional odd ball who would order a hot beverage that would completely throw off our routine. I was eager to tell these people that if they wanted “hot”, they should step out of their air conditioned Lexus once in a while and spend 10 minutes in the 97’ weather with a glass of water.

Still, I learned a lot about the art- yes, art!- of brewing coffee. I had the privilege of working with a traditional espresso machine. I had to time my own espresso shots, manually control the temperature of the milk, and pull my own coffee. Now a days, most cafes have switched over to automatic espresso machines.

I have to say that Starbucks, aside from being a glorified McDonald’s, is a good company to work for. They treat their employees well. And what was really killer was that baristas got a free pound of coffee each week! That is what I miss the most!

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Working at one Starbucks didn’t satiate my desires for café employment. The summer of 2004 saw me at Starbucks on Piedmont Avenue. This place was definitely larger that Starbucks Montclair. We had plenty of cat swinging room this time but, nobody brought cats to this location either!

The atmosphere was a lot less tense here. The customers didn’t have as much money as the Montclair customers so maybe that might have played a role in making the atmosphere relaxing.

The most memorable customers we had here were nurses and other hospital crew who would scamper in from the hospital down the street. For people employment in health services, they sure would indulge themselves too frequently in the most unhealthiest options Starbucks had to offer. They would order more sugary choices in their coffees and frappucinos than what they originally came with. And they would do so practically every day. It never ceased to amaze.

The tips here weren’t as good as they were in Montclair. I did like this neighborhood better than Montclair. It was much more colorful and the people were friendlier than Montclair’s class of clientele.


 

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For whatever reason, my café experience didn’t seem complete. I decided to go for the privately owned over the corporate franchise in the coffee world. I ventured to College Avenue in Oakland, which I call “Berkeley’s drainage” as the clientele here meander into Oakland from Berkeley via College Avenue, to find out what the cafes there were like.

Spasso was a nice experience but didn’t have the order and consistency that Starbucks did. The schedule was always changing without warning. The boss was a shady character who paid me my first paycheck entirely in cash. He did so to another barista as well and we both came to the conclusion that he was surely getting out of taxes.

He was also a tightwad when it came to food products. He would buy the cheapest food he could find and didn’t seem to have much regard for spoilage dates. His insistence on espresso brewing and milk steaming rules and etiquette were just non-existent. It got so bad that I, in good conscious, could not follow his rule of not throwing out excessively steamed milk. Why should I make something that could get customers sick, especially after they paid outrageous prices.

I did have my first taste in professional sandwich making here. Spasso had a sandwich menu which helped boost my food service experience. I enjoyed it for the most part though I was only employed here from August to December 2005. After my time at Spasso, I decided to throw in my apron and say good-bye to cafes for good! Nevertheless, I did find myself in another café in Kansas which turned out to be my worst job ever. But that’s not worth mentioning…

 

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Saying farewell to café work is just what I did. I moved onto libraries- a good transition if you ask me.

I submitted my application to the Oakland Public Library in 2006. Of all the 15 branches in the library system, the Dimond Branch Library in the Fruitvale District decided to hire me.

I used to visit this library when I was in kindergarten. It hadn’t changed a bit. I loved this job. The atmosphere was great and the staff was even greater. I would wake up some mornings in some strange eagerness to get to work.

I sorted and shelved books, helped patrons, issued library cards…typical library stuff. Working here opened up a door for me. I owe the Dimond Branch a great deal.

Ode to the Seals...

After the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989, these barking sea lions took over a small area of docks at San Francisco's Pier 39. Now, they're just as much a sight to see as Alcatraz and the cable cars. I'd say they're even more popular than the parrots of Nob Hill. There was a point just recently where they disappeared. That, fortunately, didn't last long. I think they're too much a part of San Francisco to leave.