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.
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