Thursday, September 29, 2011

Me and Thomas Oliver Larkin

Thomas Oliver Larkin (1802-1858)

A bootstraps kind of history lesson...

I was in need of a guidebook for California. Needed this book for a last minute trip down Highway 1 this past July. I wanted to peruse it along the way to find anything interesting, or quirky, to do or see, and something caught my eye…

Larkin House in Monterey.

I live on Larkin street! So, on the way home, after a beautiful drive down the coast, we (the boyfriend, and myself) went to investigate. There would be no tours available, no explanations about what we were seeing by a tour guide, but the guidebook did say you could roam the grounds, and peek in the windows.



After lunch, we wandered over to Larkin House, which was built in 1835, commissioned by Larkin for his wife, Rachel. It’s said to be the first two story home built in California. It was kind of eerie with no one else around. We didn’t linger long, since the guidebook told me little about the man. After roaming the grounds, and peeking through windows, at a house he built, with adornments he owned, my interests were peeked, I had to know more.

I did a little reading, and this is some of the information about Thomas Oliver Larkin’s life that I found particularly interesting…

He arrived in California destitute, after traveling from the East coast in 1832; before the Panama Canal was open, which means, his journey would have been at least six months long, in order to help his cousin with his business. Larkin was in search of a new beginning in what was a foreign land. He met his soon-to-be wife on the boat, the only other passenger on the trip. She was traveling to meet up with her estranged husband. While on the trip, he got her pregnant! But, she had no need to fret, after arriving in California, she found out later that her husband had died. Oh happy day! She was free to be with Larkin, and they were eventually married.

He was a busy bee, besides his romance with Rachel, his business ventures in merchandising and real estate were paying off. Also, as his epitaph boasts, Larkin was involved in California’s statehood. He had been appointed the first and only U.S consul to California from 1844 to 1846. He received messages from the president at the time, James Polk, on the matter. The question of whether or not America should have acquired California from Mexico is a sticky subject, to say the least; however, Larkin was involved, even being captured by the opposition at one point. After the acquisition, he was apart of the first convention to frame California’s Constitution in 1849. Names like: Larkin, Stockton, Sloat, Fremont, only known to us now as a street name, boulevard, or a city, were all involved in early California history, and in turn, the shaping of America.

Thomas O Larkin intrigues me. I find it interesting how he, a poor man, came to California, and was eventually receiving messages from the President, on such an important issue. He owned crap loads of land, and helped found the city of Benicia. He had business ties in San Francisco, and in 1850 built the first brick building here, that still stands today, at 1116 Stockton Street, in Chinatown. Pictured here:



It’s such a classic pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps kind of story. The kind of story you might have heard in elementary school. At the time of Larkin’s death in 1858, he was estimated to be the wealthiest man in America.

Once buried in San Francisco, he was moved to Cypress Lawn Memorial Park in Colma, “The City of the Silent,” is where he now rests. I didn’t grow up in California, but learning about this slice of San Francisco, has motivated me to do some more digging. Now, when I think of Larkin street, I don’t just see the name of the street I live on, it’s so much more, it’s a person, a life lived, it’s a part of history. And mine too.



*Sidenote: This is a map of Colma, the nickname, so I found out is, “The City of the Silent,” because there are all kinds of cemeteries, with tons on dead people there. Kinda creepy. So, as I’m looking for a new apartment, I can tell you this for certain, Colma, will not be my next home, now, or anytime in the future. Here’s a map of the area surrounding where Larkin is buried:


Wednesday, September 28, 2011

If You Are Coming to the Tenderloin...

Wear a flower in your hair, and bring money to park your car in a parking garage.



My sister came to visit recently, since she was driving, I reminded her that she needed to have a place to park her car while she was here. On other visits, both my sister, and a friend, had their cars broken into while staying with me. I will never let anyone with a car park it on the street overnight ever again. It’s way too easy for people to break into cars without any retribution. The sad part is the most expensive damage done is to the window. My sister, and my friend, didn't have anything expensive in their cars, but a common thread, is they both have Oregon license plates.

In my sister’s case, she had a bag of food on the backseat that she forgot to bring in, and the bandit decided it might contain something awesome. She told me later that she heard her car alarm sound, and as she peered outside, and noticed someone rummaging around in her car. As I slept soundly, she bolted off the couch, out the door, down the stairs, and across the street to yank the person from her car. She yelled at the guy to get the fuck out of her car, and he retorted by claiming that he wasn’t the one who had done the damage.

She relayed the story to me in the morning. I, being the older, more protective sister, came up with scary scenarios like: what if he had a gun, or knife. For some reason, I always picture knives as being the worse weapon. I make the assumption that criminals may be more inclined to use a knife than a gun. Regardless, I wasn’t happy she had gone out there alone, super late, and with no shoes on! I would have been like, cool, someone’s in my car, he can have that bag of food. But, my sister had just gotten out of the coast guard, which means, she’s already kind of a bad-ass.

Her visit this time was a good one, it's always really nice to see her. And no break-ins!

Thursday, September 8, 2011

San Francisco Favela

There's a shanty town across the street right now.



My Mom had bipolar disorder. There was a year when I didn’t see her. I couldn’t handle it. I let her drop out of my world, and into oblivion. She refused to take the medication she was required to take, and would, on occasion slip into, what I referred to as, ‘an episode’.

I got my Mom committed once. My Dad and I had to sign papers to get her taken in. There had been an altercation where she had brandished a knife at someone. It was enough to get her held for the weekend, but the man she had ‘attacked’ couldn’t come forward to testify, something to do with the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be in the state. It’s almost like me and the TL are a perfect fit. I grew up with this crazy shit. After the weekend was up, they had to release her. To be able to keep her, they had to prove that she was a danger to herself or others. I was pissed, because clearly, she was a danger to herself, and others. I wanted my Mom to be safe. I wanted others to be safe. But because of the laws in place, she had rights. She had rights about her medication and housing. Rights, that I believe, often prevent people from actually getting the help they need. She was often homeless. I would argue, that it is a danger to someone’s health to be in a constant state of homelessness… It’s a fucking problem.

And it’s a huge problem in the Tenderloin. These people do drugs, sleep on the sidewalks, in all kinds of weather, eat from trash cans, and often walk around the street with no shoes on. All the homeless people I’ve seen throughout the years, the ones I know I’ve seen before, they visibly deteriorate. Most of the people that ‘live’ on the streets here are fixtures in this community, and have been here longer than I have. They have their own community. They’ve created a counter culture for themselves; we don’t know them, but they know each other.

But, it’s the homeless women that pull at my heart strings the most. I wonder about their families, and if they have anyone, and if so, where are they. I wonder if they’ve eaten today. Most often they are panhandling, but I don’t give them money, there‘s just too many of them.

These people need a new place to rest their heads besides the sidewalk. It’s time the streets stop being their home. It’s time we stop letting them live on the streets. Not just because people want to charge more for rent here, not just because if we clean up our act, new businesses will open here. Not just for gentrification. But because, it’s the right thing to do.