For gay people in the 1990s, West Hollywood was a sacred site, a safe haven free from the heterosexism and homophobia of the straight world. Everyone visited at least once; almost everyone moved there (like my ex-boyfriend Fred); or tried to (like Oscar, the former lover of Ronald Reagan,).
But if West Hollywood was a Gay Mecca, San Francisco was Gay Heaven, a mythical, perfect place, beyond the reach of all but the very blessed or the very lucky.
In the fall of 1995, we managed it. For a little while.
Other gay neighborhoods, South of Market and the Mission, were likewise impossible. Eventually we found an apartment in "The Avenues," about 3 miles west of Castro Street.
There were lots of things wrong with San Francisco:
1. It was very expensive, and there were no jobs.
2. It was very cold and damp, with a wet wind whipping through you all the time. And those quaint Victorians? Drafty, freezing, cramped. Constant sinus congestion, frequent colds.
4. When we drove anywhere, we had to spend 45 minutes looking for a parking space, and invariably we ended up parking a mile from our destination, in a scary neighborhood.
5. We felt guilty going anywhere, due to the dozens of panhandles holding out their cups and chanting "Any change? Any change?" If we gave in and deposited change, we were marked as "easy," and aggressive panhandlers would follow us around, demanding money.
6. Crime was everywhere. People were robbed regularly. Our car would be broken into regularly, even if nothing was visible. The trunk would be jimmied open to see if anything was inside.
7. There were lots of heterosexual tourists who thought of gay people as an attraction, and kept gawking and taking photographs.
We couldn't stay there forever. It never felt like home. But in spite of the problems, San Francisco was still Gay Heaven.
Because of the little things.
A matinee at the Castro Theater.
Browsing in All American Boy on a Saturday afternoon.
The Sunday beer bust at the Eagle.
A quick burger at Orphan Andy's
Climbing up from the Castro Street Muni Station early in the morning, and walking through the bright, cold new day.
Well, the city's still gentrified to hell, and unless you have the hot certification of the week and thirty years' experience while also being ten, good luck getting a job. Which is kinda funny to me, in an era when "Millions Facing Eviction" and "Billionaire Space Race" (more proof Bezos is secretly Lex Luthor, along with two series about an evil Superman, one day I'm going to prove he ghost wrote Infinite Crisis, Countdown, and Legion of Three Worlds) are both headlines. Leading to more panhandlers.
ReplyDeleteCrime's down, but it's been on the decline everywhere since the first Bush.
Fewer tourists gawking, but that could be because tourism's down. Or because public nudity is illegal now, so the most visible gays look just like anyone else. I mean, there are still the drag queens and clones, though the clones do have to cover their crotches and asses. (And there aren't even that many clones now.) Plus, for lack of a better term, being gay is normalized; everyone has a cousin who's out, and anyone on Grindr has met a few closeted guys.
It's still impossible to get from Point A to Point B, but that's a hazard in any big city that thinks mass transit is the tool of the Devil. (See also LA.)
In the 1990s you could still find an affordable apartment, as long as it was a sizeable distance from the Castro. In the Castro, you'd have a long line of people frantically scribbling application forms for a one-room basement apartment with no windows.
DeleteForeigners buying up properties for money laundering schemes. It's a coastal cancer.
DeleteI moved to the East Bay. Cheaper and it was just a BART ride away for work. I would drive into the City on weekends. Usually had no trouble finding parking.
ReplyDelete