At a few moments before noon on Thursday July 26, 2018, the ferry docked at Pier 33 from our three-hour adventure on Alcatraz Island. As amazing as the prison experience was for the three of us, it was great to be back in downtown San Francisco. Although the fog was still blocking the sun’s rays, it felt a lot warmer and it was less windy than it was on Alcatraz.
We retraced our steps back to Pier 39, which by that time of day was overrun by tourists. Dozens of street performers were along the waterfront as they vied for visitor’s money, but I knew that my thrifty photographer would only reach for his wallet if he saw a foursome dressed like KISS. My camera guy and his wife had wanted to experience Fisherman’s Wharf, but they were disappointed when they got there. The touristy wharf district was crowded, somewhat dirty, and we kept on walking until we found a place that Vicki had wanted to visit – Ghirardelli Square. High above the buildings, we could easily see the giant metallic lettering that spelled out Ghirardelli – and for the three of us, that was a beacon to chocolate. In need of some food, my photographer and his wife dined on some ice cream as they sat near a famous fountain called Andrea’s Fountain, which was a scenic work of art that featured topless bronze mermaids as they frolicked in the water with sea turtles and frogs. I laughed to myself because I didn’t realize that my photographer was a mermaid fan; but he was a fan that day!
When Vicki and Tom walked into Ghirardelli’s, there was chocolate everywhere in all shapes and sizes. At one point I heard my photographer say that Ghirardelli’s would make Willy Wonka envious. After our 15-minute visit at the chocolate store was finished, it was time to mark another item off my photographer’s wife’s bucket list: she had wanted to ride a cable car in San Francisco. While that goal seemed simple enough, especially since we were near the Powell-Hyde Station, it appeared that everyone else had the same thing on their bucket list as well. After we had paid for our fare, there was a 50-minute wait to board the cable car. With nearly an hour to kill as we stood in line, my cameraman/safety guy had the opportunity to study the six safety rules for riding one of San Francisco’s “World Famous Cable Cars”. One of the safety rules made him laugh out loud – ‘Do not step into oncoming traffic’; after which Tom said sarcastically: “Now that’s a good rule; but a person would have to be pretty stupid to jump off that cable car and into the path of a speeding car or truck. You’d think they would know better!” During our wait, we had a great opportunity to watch as several cable cars entered the turntable and workers turned the in-bound cars around so they could go in the opposite direction. Surprisingly, the turn-around was done manually as workers pushed the cable car while it was on the rotating turntable.
I had to admit, once we boarded the Powell-Hyde Line cable car and got rolling down the track, it was a cool experience; at least from what I could see from the camera case. My photographer sat in the front seat while his wife stood on the side running board – something she insisted on doing. As tempting as it likely was, Vicki didn’t feel the need to step off the car into oncoming traffic. At each stop we made, which seemed to be at every cross street, the unmistakable sound of the cable car’s bell would ring out. When we first heard the bell ring, my camera guy answered with: “Rice-a-Roni, the San Francisco treat”, and some of the passengers were old enough to remember the jingle and they chuckled out loud. During our over one-mile ride through downtown San Francisco, the highlight of the trip was our grip man. He stood right behind my photographer and controlled the cable car. In addition to him being good at his job, the guy was extremely funny – and as an added bonus, he also looked like Ken Jeong from TV’s ‘The Masked Singer’ and the movie ‘Hangover’.
When we arrived near our destination, I was carried about a block until we reached the Powell Street entrance to the historic St. Francis Hotel; although it has been known as the Westin St. Francis since 1981. While the front of the hotel looked cool, we walked around the corner to the Post Street entrance which was where an assassination attempt on President Gerald R. Ford was carried-out on September 22, 1975. When we arrived at the site, it was incredible that the hotel and area looked exactly like it did 43 years earlier. On that afternoon in 1975, President Ford emerged from the hotel at 3:30pm after delivering a speech to the World Affairs Council. As he was escorted by Secret Service through the throng of reporters and on-lookers to his limousine, Sara Jane Moore stood across the street and fired her .38 caliber revolver at the President. Luckily the sights were not accurate on her newly purchased pistol and the bullet sailed roughly five inches over Ford’s head; the round hit the hotel doorway behind the President. When she realized she had missed, Moore squeezed-off a second shot; but former Marine Oliver Sipple had grabbed her arm first and the bullet once again missed its intended target. A taxi driver in the entryway was hit by the wayward shot after it ricocheted and struck him in the groin. During our stay at the historic site, I posed near the doorway that Ford had exited; as well as near the spot where he was standing when Moore had fired the first shot. I was also carried across the street where I posed near the area where the would-be assassin was standing when she fired her revolver. As I stood outside of the St. Francis Hotel, I thought about Gerald Ford and what must’ve gone through his mind when the shots rang out. After all, it was the second assassination attempt that was made on Ford in a 17-day span. The first unsuccessful attempt, also in California, was carried out by Lynette ‘Squeaky’ Fromme at the State Capitol Building in Sacramento. President Ford must’ve wondered why some of the people in California wanted him dead.
As I was carried away from the St. Francis Hotel, one thought kept running through my resin-filled mind over and over again: “Why would anyone want to shoot at a guy who liked nachos and football as much as Jerry?” My attention quickly shifted from Gerald Ford to Warren G. Harding. After a short four-block walk east on Geary Street, we arrived at the historic Palace Hotel at roughly 3:30pm. That large eight-story hotel was the second Palace Hotel on that site; the first of which was destroyed by the 1906 Earthquake. In 1923, President Warren G. Harding arrived in San Francisco on July 29th in ill health during a western trip that included a stop in Alaska. After a few days of being treated by doctors in Room 8064, he seemed to improve slightly. On the evening of August 2, 1923, however, as his wife Florence was reading an article to him from the Saturday Evening Post, Harding collapsed back in his bed and within seconds the 57-year-old President was dead. After I had posed for a few photos with the exterior of the mammoth building, I was carried through the front door and immediately to the concierge’s desk. After my photographer explained the reason for our visit and had pleaded for permission to visit the exact room where Harding had died, we were unfortunately denied access as guests were still inside the room. However, the concierge granted Tom permission to take the elevator to the eighth floor where he photographed me alongside the door to Room 888, which was the new number of the renovated Room 8064 – the corner suite that had overlooked Market Street when Harding was there.
Locating the room where Harding had died in the Palace Hotel was simple; especially after the concierge had provided my photographer with exact directions. That same caretaker also gave us directions to the Garden Court; a huge beautiful dining room with its legendary stained glass dome, crystal chandeliers, marble columns and vaulted ceilings. On September 17, 1919, Woodrow Wilson attended a luncheon in that room where he gave a speech to the Women’s League in support of the Treaty of Versailles. Tom had a photo of the exact place where President Wilson was seated, which was near an ornate marble pillar located near the center of the dining room. When I was carried into the Garden Court of the Palace Hotel, it looked as though a conference had just finished, as some of the attendees were still milling about as they finished up their drinks. The first thing my photographer did was look for the precise column that was in the photo, but that wasn’t an easy feat. There were about a dozen columns and each one had a different grain pattern in the marble. My photographer did his best to match up the grain patterns of the columns in the room with the one in the photo, and after a ten-minute search he found the exact match. There was also an oval shaped depression in the pillar that was closest to Wilson and the same mark was on the marble column that was in front of us. We had found it! Tom had photographic evidence that we were in the right place, but there was a snag – four conference attendees had congregated near “our” pillar. After he had waited for the guys to vacate the area, Tom soon realized that they might be there for a while – especially with drinks in their hands. At that moment, I heard my photographer say to the foursome: “Would you guys like to see something cool? Did you know that in 1919, President Woodrow Wilson sat right here at this exact spot near this same marble column – and I have a picture to prove it!” When the four guys, each of whom were from Australia, looked at the picture, they were ecstatic. “Look at that, would ya mate; look at the markings on that column and they match up perfectly with that one right in front of us. Woodrow Wilson was sitting right here!” I loved their accents as they sounded like the Geico gecko; I waited for them to say “Crikey”, but unfortunately that never happened. Once my photographer explained to the guys about our Presidential quest, they were more than happy to move out of the way so that I could pose near Wilson’s 1919 luncheon location. As a matter of fact, when Tom finished taking the photos of me, the Australian dudes wanted to know more about some of our travels; all the while Vicki patiently waited for us in the hotel’s lobby.
Although we were finished with the Presidential sites for the day, my photographer’s wife had wanted to visit the Marshall’s store that was located on Market Street just two blocks from the Palace Hotel. After we spent around 20 minutes inside the large store searching for Vicki’s precious Rae Dunn pottery, it was once again time to call Uber for a ride back “home”. Once our driver, who was from Mongolia, had finally found us standing near Marshall’s, we began the 12-mile ride to Mill Valley that was scheduled to take less than 30 minutes. Tom had figured since it was 4:30pm and rush hour, it would likely take a bit longer than a half hour to get back. Boy, was that a miscalculation as traffic was stopped on every main artery out of the San Francisco Peninsula. The driver was impressive as he attempted to take shortcuts to bypass a large portion of the bottle neck; but in the end, we still had to drive over the Golden Gate Bridge. It turned out that an accident had occurred at the entrance to the famous bridge and two lanes were closed to all traffic headed north. When we finally arrived at our rental near Mill Valley, that 12-mile ride took nearly 90 minutes to complete. That traffic delay also escalated our fee from $25 up over $60; which didn’t make my cheap photographer too happy.
Once my companions finished their dinner that they bought from a nearby Safeway grocery store, they kicked back and relaxed in Charles’ backyard. The day had been filled with fun, fountains, and Ford – oh, and The Rock. When the lights went out and I stood on my table throughout the night, all I could think about was the next day’s planned agenda to see more rock with Native American graffiti – minus the Native part.
