https://foundsf.org/api.php?action=feedcontributions&user=Tobymarx&feedformat=atomFoundSF - User contributions [en]2024-03-28T16:06:53ZUser contributionsMediaWiki 1.39.1https://foundsf.org/index.php?title=The_Parlor_Houses_of_Jessie_Hayman&diff=24185The Parlor Houses of Jessie Hayman2015-07-10T00:38:26Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Born 1867 in New Orleans, Annie May Wyant showed up in San Francisco sometime in the early 1890s. By 1895, using Jessie Mellon as her house name, she was boarding in Mrs. Nina Hayman’s “lodging house” at 225 Ellis Street, an address that later would become one of the best known in the annals of San Francisco prostitution. Opened in the late 1870s by Dolly Adams — former “Water Queen” of the Bella Union Theater — the Ellis Street establishment was taken over by Mrs. Hayman following Dolly’s retirement from madamship in the 1880s. Near the end of 1898, Nina Hayman retired to marry a wealthy San Francisco lumber dealer. As the house favorite, young Jessie took on her mentor’s name and business, and it was as Jessie Hayman or “Diamond Jessie” that she became famous.<br />
<br />
Jessie’s full story has been told with great warmth and wit by Curt Gentry in his book ''The Madams of San Francisco''.&sup1; Suffice for me to say that she was strict yet fair and generous with her girls, and her parlor houses were the most lavish and fashionable in the district. She was tall and elegant, a shapely redhead and a lover of diamonds whose charms (and prices) were legendary in her own time, as illustrated by the following anecdote.<br />
<br />
In the late 1890s, photographer Arnold Genthe introduced Jessie to a Grand Duke of the Imperial Russian Empire, who wanted to take her back to Russia with him. When Jessie politely declined, the Grand Duke commissioned Genthe to make a life-size enlargement of her portrait. At a Newport luncheon honoring the Grand Duke the day before he returned to Russia, His Royal Highness proposed a toast.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>To the most beautiful woman I have met in your country. She shall be nameless. Even if she were not many miles away, she would not have been included in this gathering. I ask you all to drink her health.</blockquote><br />
<br />
Thus it was that ladies of unquestioned virtue,* the cream of American society, raised their glasses and drank to a demimondaine, for a request from a Grand Duke was a command.<br />
<br />
The ultimate fate of the portrait is unknown. Perhaps it was destroyed by Bolshevik Red Guards during the 1917 October Revolution; or maybe, along with other detritus of the fallen empire, it was hidden in a cellar only to be forgotten and left to molder in darkness. No matter what actually happened to the enlargement, we know the negative was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and fire, and thus the only known photograph of Diamond Jessie is as good as forever lost.<br />
<br />
''*Or so we must suppose.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn over Taylor Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn Over Taylor Street"''' (2003)<br />
<br />
'''(340/14) 136–142 Taylor Street; Dunphy Building. Stores and offices/lofts. 4B stories; brick structure; decorative window frames including third level arches, bracketed cornice and pediment; two-part vertical composition; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation; vestibule: tile floor, sign painted on north wall: “United Railways Telegraph Schools”; alterations: ground floor, storefronts, aluminum windows, vestibule. Original owner: P. Dunphy. Architect: E.A. Bozio. 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Several months after the the 225 Ellis establishment was destroyed by the 1906 fire, Jessie moved with her girls into the top two floors of the newly-constructed Dunphy Building. There they stayed until the fall of 1907, when she acquired a new lodging house on Mason Street and furnished it as a deluxe bagnio.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Polo's-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Famous Polo’s"''' (2004)<br />
<br />
'''(341/7) 34-48 Mason Street; The Glenwood (1906); parlor house (1907); Polo’s Restaurant (1952). Storefront and loft; brick structure; decorative brickwork including rusticated piers, galvanized iron cornice; two-part vertical composition; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation; vertical neon blade sign. Alterations: ground floor remodeled. Architects: Meyers and Ward. 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
From 1907 till 1912, when she moved her girls and furnishings to Eddy Street, the Glenwood was Jessie’s parlor house. Much later it would become Polo’s Stadium Club, for many years one of San Francisco’s most popular meeting spots for fine food and drink.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Crystal-Hotel-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Crystal Hotel"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
'''(331/7) 128-132 Eddy Street; The Gotham Lodgings, parlor house, Belva Hotel, Crystal Hotel. Rooming house with forty-seven rooms and twenty-eight baths. 4B stories; brick structure; rusticated second level, upper level with decorative panels, bands, window surrounds, galvanized iron cornice; two-part vertical block; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation. Alterations: ground level completely remodeled, lobby remodeled. Original owners: Daniel O’Neil, contractor, and Cora M. Twombly. Architect Charles R. Wilson. 1908.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
130 Eddy was the last of Diamond Jessie’s brothels, from 1912 until her retirement in 1917. The first floor was leased out as a saloon, the parlors and madam’s suite were on the second floor, and the girls’ suites, dining room and kitchen were on the upper floors. With the help of Jessie’s backing, one of her girls later became a leading Hollywood madam under the name Beverly Davis. In her autobiography ''Call House Madam'',&sup2; Ms. Davis devotes several chapters to her mentor that include a description of the Eddy Street brothel.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Jessie’s prices were staggering. She had a champagne cellar with wines from all parts of the world. Whoever furnished the house knew his Place Pigalle stuff. There was the red room, the gold room, the Turkish room, the French room, the blue room. oriental couches and shaded lamps, plush parlors one after the other with deep carpets on the floor. The bedrooms upstairs were done in the best style. It reflected ‘tone’ for a parlor house all the way through.</blockquote><br />
<br />
When she died in 1923, Jessie’s net worth in diamonds and Tenderloin real estate was one hundred thousand dollars, the equivalent in 2009 dollars of well over one point two million.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Joy-of-Life-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Joy of Life"''' (2003)<br />
<br />
'''Crystal Hotel, 128-132 Eddy Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
One of my germinal photographs, the Crystal Hotel viewed from Mason Street is also one of my favorites. It captures the essence of the Tenderloin as a many-layered source of fascination. I was captivated by these walls long before I had a camera to photograph them. The faded advertisements afforded a glimpse of the past, but the peculiar, limpet-like annex was a real enigma. Could it have been a meat locker for the brothel’s kitchen? No one seemed to know. Near the end of 2005, an acquaintance told me of a former tenant who had used the tiny space as an extra bedroom by cramming a folding camp bed into it. Alas, this anecdote is all I have gleaned. The little annex and lovely ghost signs are now largely hidden, eclipsed by a new housing development, thus bringing to a close this page in Tenderloin history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Joy Eclipsed.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Joy Eclipsed"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
----<br />
1. ''1964, Doubleday and Company.''<br><br />
2. ''1942, Martin Tudordale Corporation.''<br />
<br />
[[“Maestrapeace” on the Women's Building |Prev. Document]] [[Prostitute March 1917|Next Document]]<br />
<br />
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[[category:Women]] [[category:1890s]] [[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:architecture]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=24168Sixth Street2015-06-26T03:02:36Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
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<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''*2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the right is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper right corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-Spring 2001, I felt like the luckiest man alive when, with little more than the clothes on my back and a 690 dollar monthly income from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was home, my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself and the fundament in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions; men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people thought of these men as bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and promulgated by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions. Realizing that the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, he donated money to the redevelopment agency in 1954 for the preparation of a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you will see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969, many of those who would be affected joined together to form Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment (TOOR), which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a modicum of relocation support and to build a couple of residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers were not bad enough, residents must also live with the continual threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit housing corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management tends to circumvent meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing too often fails the very tenants who are least able to care for themselves. Ideally, supportive housing helps people with disabilities live independently by providing individualized services, including medical and psychiatric care, medication and appointment reminders, in-home healthcare assistance, addiction treatment, housekeeping, meal programs, and life coaching. In reality, what some nonprofits call supportive housing is little more than an administrative hierarchy of case managers who refer tenants to outside government and nonprofit service providers. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers and often lacking professional training and experience, such case managers have little time to spend with individual clients. Without on-site personal assistance and followup, some disabled tenants fall through the cracks. Unable to navigate their problems by themselves, they wind up in institutions or on the streets again.<br />
<br />
Then there are the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease hotels'''], where crimes committed by staff and management — including embezzlement, drug dealing, property theft, pandering, rape and other forms of violent assault — are disturbingly pervasive yet receive little public attention, largely because victims are persuaded to settle out of court. Prominent among master lease hotels is the [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''Seneca'''] on Sixth Street; in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned comes from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for nearly six years, and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. In all the extensive Bay Area photo archives, there are decidedly few historical images of Sixth Street, but my own photography will some day add a bit more to the record. Even though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives and thumb my nose at the relentlessly onrushing forces of urbanization and redevelopment, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Near the middle of February 2001 — one week out of the hospital and just beginning to recover from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction — I rented lodgings at the Sai Hotel for 400 dollars a month.* As this was well below what other SROs were charging, it seemed like a bargain until I actually saw what I had rented. On the top floor at the back of the building, an undersized door opened inward on a room so absurdly small, it barely qualified as a crib. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by a single-width bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room, but this was mostly taken up by a small sink and a nightstand. All that remained empty was clearance for the door. To open or close the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. A diminutive window above the nightstand provided meager illumination that barely dispelled the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient cloth-insulated wire, a naked sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but I rarely used it as the glare was intolerable. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on 690 dollars a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003'' <br />
<br />
Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head, so I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. It would be many months before my surgical wounds were more or less healed. Between thrice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. Jozsef was an artisan and house-painter who had fled from Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to Jozsef’s snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef’s endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.<br />
<br />
''*Monthly rent would be 520 dollars, leaving me 170 dollars on which to live.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Fairfax.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Fairfax"'''<br />
<br />
'''Hotel Fairfax. 420 Eddy Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Having lived a month in a dismal crib at the Sai, I was more than ready for a change, but the only vacancy I could find was a room at the Hotel Fairfax, a haven for heroin-addicted hustlers, prostitutes and crackheads. Peace and quiet were the rarest of commodities at the Fairfax. Management rarely ventured beyond their first-floor enclave, and hotel housekeeping was spotty and superficial at best. The upstairs bathrooms and toilets were unspeakably vile. For the most part, tenants were free to carry on however they pleased in shadowy hallways and on dark, winding stairs at all hours of the day and night. In need of a temporary hideout or a bathroom, or for reasons best left undiscovered, all kinds of unsavory characters would lurk about the upper floors late at night after sneaking up the rear fire escape. In the end, five weeks at the Fairfax was all I could stand.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
For the next few weeks, I slept sitting upright in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of the photo “Invocation” is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was shree ganeshaya namah. Over time the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until shree ganesh sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, it was comforting to know that the name of my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''*In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings, who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen.'<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Ganesha"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from Room #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant foremost, rebuilding my sense of self by recovering memories of who I had been before life as a homeless junkie had annihilated my self-image; that, and reactivating parts of my brain that had fallen dormant during that time. To accomplish this, I used writing, drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''. Soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I had established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ars combinatoria of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Near the end of 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I have seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel. The stacks are part of a PG and E steam plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of postmodern and corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B and O Railroad. Some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges. Everything was perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people regard as lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel. Behind it is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence where it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
In Classical architecture, the repeating, box-shaped components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, 200 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
Photo: Mark Ellinger<br />
<br />
The Hugo was Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant after a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make them appear animate and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls. Lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. Sightseers took untold thousands of photographs of the Hugo and its famous furniture; a housing crisis turned into public art. I photographed the Hugo’s former service alley because it showed the only wall of the hotel that had not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' endured for nearly eighteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel was universally appealing &mdash; everyone liked it &mdash; and I grew more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for almost thirty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''*”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. Demolished, plowed under and built over, the old “South of the Slot” district has been fragmented into near-oblivion, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. The Hugo Hotel was at last razed in mid-Spring 2015. Inasmuch as it helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching urbanization and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest now that the hotel is gone. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo was given new life and purpose by the artists who created "Defenestration." Transformed, the old hotel was a kind of signpost: a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present. It was a powerful presence that will not soon be forgotten.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=24167Sixth Street2015-06-26T03:01:46Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''Updated 24 June 2015'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''*2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the right is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper right corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-Spring 2001, I felt like the luckiest man alive when, with little more than the clothes on my back and a 690 dollar monthly income from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was home, my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself and the fundament in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions; men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people thought of these men as bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and promulgated by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions. Realizing that the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, he donated money to the redevelopment agency in 1954 for the preparation of a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you will see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969, many of those who would be affected joined together to form Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment (TOOR), which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a modicum of relocation support and to build a couple of residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers were not bad enough, residents must also live with the continual threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit housing corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management tends to circumvent meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing too often fails the very tenants who are least able to care for themselves. Ideally, supportive housing helps people with disabilities live independently by providing individualized services, including medical and psychiatric care, medication and appointment reminders, in-home healthcare assistance, addiction treatment, housekeeping, meal programs, and life coaching. In reality, what some nonprofits call supportive housing is little more than an administrative hierarchy of case managers who refer tenants to outside government and nonprofit service providers. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers and often lacking professional training and experience, such case managers have little time to spend with individual clients. Without on-site personal assistance and followup, some disabled tenants fall through the cracks. Unable to navigate their problems by themselves, they wind up in institutions or on the streets again.<br />
<br />
Then there are the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease hotels'''], where crimes committed by staff and management — including embezzlement, drug dealing, property theft, pandering, rape and other forms of violent assault — are disturbingly pervasive yet receive little public attention, largely because victims are persuaded to settle out of court. Prominent among master lease hotels is the [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''Seneca'''] on Sixth Street; in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned comes from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for nearly six years, and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. In all the extensive Bay Area photo archives, there are decidedly few historical images of Sixth Street, but my own photography will some day add a bit more to the record. Even though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives and thumb my nose at the relentlessly onrushing forces of urbanization and redevelopment, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Near the middle of February 2001 — one week out of the hospital and just beginning to recover from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction — I rented lodgings at the Sai Hotel for 400 dollars a month.* As this was well below what other SROs were charging, it seemed like a bargain until I actually saw what I had rented. On the top floor at the back of the building, an undersized door opened inward on a room so absurdly small, it barely qualified as a crib. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by a single-width bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room, but this was mostly taken up by a small sink and a nightstand. All that remained empty was clearance for the door. To open or close the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. A diminutive window above the nightstand provided meager illumination that barely dispelled the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient cloth-insulated wire, a naked sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but I rarely used it as the glare was intolerable. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on 690 dollars a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003'' <br />
<br />
Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head, so I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. It would be many months before my surgical wounds were more or less healed. Between thrice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. Jozsef was an artisan and house-painter who had fled from Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to Jozsef’s snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef’s endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.<br />
<br />
''*Monthly rent would be 520 dollars, leaving me 170 dollars on which to live.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Fairfax.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Fairfax"'''<br />
<br />
'''Hotel Fairfax. 420 Eddy Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Having lived a month in a dismal crib at the Sai, I was more than ready for a change, but the only vacancy I could find was a room at the Hotel Fairfax, a haven for heroin-addicted hustlers, prostitutes and crackheads. Peace and quiet were the rarest of commodities at the Fairfax. Management rarely ventured beyond their first-floor enclave, and hotel housekeeping was spotty and superficial at best. The upstairs bathrooms and toilets were unspeakably vile. For the most part, tenants were free to carry on however they pleased in shadowy hallways and on dark, winding stairs at all hours of the day and night. In need of a temporary hideout or a bathroom, or for reasons best left undiscovered, all kinds of unsavory characters would lurk about the upper floors late at night after sneaking up the rear fire escape. In the end, five weeks at the Fairfax was all I could stand.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
For the next few weeks, I slept sitting upright in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of the photo “Invocation” is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was shree ganeshaya namah. Over time the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until shree ganesh sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, it was comforting to know that the name of my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''*In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings, who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen.'<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Ganesha"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from Room #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant foremost, rebuilding my sense of self by recovering memories of who I had been before life as a homeless junkie had annihilated my self-image; that, and reactivating parts of my brain that had fallen dormant during that time. To accomplish this, I used writing, drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''. Soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I had established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ars combinatoria of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Near the end of 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I have seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel. The stacks are part of a PG and E steam plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of postmodern and corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B and O Railroad. Some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges. Everything was perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people regard as lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel. Behind it is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence where it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
In Classical architecture, the repeating, box-shaped components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, 200 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
Photo: Mark Ellinger<br />
<br />
The Hugo was Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant after a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make them appear animate and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls. Lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. Sightseers took untold thousands of photographs of the Hugo and its famous furniture; a housing crisis turned into public art. I photographed the Hugo’s former service alley because it showed the only wall of the hotel that had not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' endured for nearly eighteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel was universally appealing &mdash; everyone liked it &mdash; and I grew more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for almost thirty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''*”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. Demolished, plowed under and built over, the old “South of the Slot” district has been fragmented into near-oblivion, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. The Hugo Hotel was at last razed in mid-Spring 2015. Inasmuch as it helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching urbanization and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest now that the hotel is gone. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo was given new life and purpose by the artists who created "Defenestration." Transformed, the old hotel was a kind of signpost: a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present. It was a powerful presence that will not soon be forgotten.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
[[Image:Tours-editor.gif|link=Playland]] [[Playland|Continue viewing the Editors' Favorite Pages]]<br />
<br />
[[EARLY RESIDENTS|Prev. Document]] [[Sixth Street (Part Two)|Next Document]]<br />
<br />
[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=The_Parlor_Houses_of_Jessie_Hayman&diff=24166The Parlor Houses of Jessie Hayman2015-06-25T21:33:35Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Born 1867 in New Orleans, Annie May Wyant showed up in San Francisco sometime in the early 1890s. By 1895, using Jessie Mellon as her house name, she was boarding in Mrs. Nina Hayman’s “lodging house” at 225 Ellis Street, an address that later would become one of the best known in the annals of San Francisco prostitution. Opened in the late 1870s by Dolly Adams — former “Water Queen” of the Bella Union Theater — the Ellis Street establishment was taken over by Mrs. Hayman following Dolly’s retirement from madamship in the 1880s. Near the end of 1898, Nina Hayman retired to marry a wealthy San Francisco lumber dealer. As the house favorite, young Jessie took on her mentor’s name and business, and it was as Jessie Hayman or “Diamond Jessie” that she became famous.<br />
<br />
Jessie’s full story has been told with great warmth and wit by Curt Gentry in his book ''The Madams of San Francisco''.&sup1; Suffice for me to say that she was strict yet fair and generous with her girls, and her parlor houses were the most lavish and fashionable in the district. She was tall and elegant, a shapely redhead and a lover of diamonds whose charms (and prices) were legendary in her own time, as illustrated by the following anecdote.<br />
<br />
In the late 1890s, photographer Arnold Genthe introduced Jessie to a Grand Duke of the Imperial Russian Empire, who wanted to take her back to Russia with him. When Jessie politely declined, the Grand Duke commissioned Genthe to make a life-size enlargement of her portrait. At a Newport luncheon honoring the Grand Duke the day before he returned to Russia, His Royal Highness proposed a toast.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>To the most beautiful woman I have met in your country. She shall be nameless. Even if she were not many miles away, she would not have been included in this gathering. I ask you all to drink her health.</blockquote><br />
<br />
Thus it was that ladies of unquestioned virtue,* the cream of American society, raised their glasses and drank to a demimondaine, for a request from a Grand Duke was a command.<br />
<br />
The ultimate fate of the portrait is unknown. Perhaps it was destroyed by Bolshevik Red Guards during the 1917 October Revolution; or maybe, along with other detritus of the fallen empire, it was hidden in a cellar only to be forgotten and left to molder in darkness. No matter what actually happened to the enlargement, we know the negative was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and fire, and thus the only known photograph of Diamond Jessie is as good as forever lost.<br />
<br />
''*Or so we must suppose.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn over Taylor Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn Over Taylor Street"''' (2003)<br />
<br />
'''(340/14) 136–142 Taylor Street; Dunphy Building. Stores and offices/lofts. 4B stories; brick structure; decorative window frames including third level arches, bracketed cornice and pediment; two-part vertical composition; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation; vestibule: tile floor, sign painted on north wall: “United Railways Telegraph Schools”; alterations: ground floor, storefronts, aluminum windows, vestibule. Original owner: P. Dunphy. Architect: E.A. Bozio. 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Several months after the the 225 Ellis establishment was destroyed by the 1906 fire, Jessie moved with her girls into the top two floors of the newly-constructed Dunphy Building. There they stayed until the fall of 1907, when she acquired a new lodging house on Mason Street and furnished it as a deluxe bagnio.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Polo's-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Famous Polo’s"''' (2004)<br />
<br />
'''(341/7) 34-48 Mason Street; The Glenwood (1906); parlor house (1907); Polo’s Restaurant (1952). Storefront and loft; brick structure; decorative brickwork including rusticated piers, galvanized iron cornice; two-part vertical composition; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation; vertical neon blade sign. Alterations: ground floor remodeled. Architects: Meyers and Ward. 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
From 1907 till 1912, when she moved her girls and furnishings to Eddy Street, the Glenwood was Jessie’s parlor house. Much later it would become Polo’s Stadium Club, for many years one of San Francisco’s most popular meeting spots for fine food and drink.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Crystal-Hotel-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Crystal Hotel"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
'''(331/7) 128-132 Eddy Street; The Gotham Lodgings, parlor house, Belva Hotel, Crystal Hotel. Rooming house with forty-seven rooms and twenty-eight baths. 4B stories; brick structure; rusticated second level, upper level with decorative panels, bands, window surrounds, galvanized iron cornice; two-part vertical block; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation. Alterations: ground level completely remodeled, lobby remodeled. Original owners: Daniel O’Neil, contractor, and Cora M. Twombly. Architect Charles R. Wilson. 1908.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
130 Eddy was the last of Diamond Jessie’s brothels, from 1912 until her retirement in 1917. The first floor was leased out as a saloon, the parlors and madam’s suite were on the second floor, and the girls’ suites, dining room and kitchen were on the upper floors. With the help of Jessie’s backing, one of her girls later became a leading Hollywood madam under the name Beverly Davis. In her autobiography ''Call House Madam'',&sup2; Ms. Davis devotes several chapters to her mentor that include a description of the Eddy Street brothel.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Jessie’s prices were staggering. She had a champagne cellar with wines from all parts of the world. Whoever furnished the house knew his Place Pigalle stuff. There was the red room, the gold room, the Turkish room, the French room, the blue room. oriental couches and shaded lamps, plush parlors one after the other with deep carpets on the floor. The bedrooms upstairs were done in the best style. It reflected ‘tone’ for a parlor house all the way through.</blockquote><br />
<br />
When she died in 1923, Jessie’s net worth in diamonds and Tenderloin real estate was one hundred thousand dollars, the equivalent in 2009 dollars of well over one point two million.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Joy-of-Life-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Joy of Life"''' (2003)<br />
<br />
'''Crystal Hotel, 128-132 Eddy Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
One of my germinal photographs, the Crystal Hotel viewed from Mason Street is also one of my favorites. It captures the essence of the Tenderloin as a many-layered source of fascination. I was captivated by these walls long before I had a camera to photograph them. The faded advertisements afforded a glimpse of the past, but the peculiar, limpet-like annex was a real enigma. Could it have been a meat locker for the brothel’s kitchen? No one seemed to know. Near the end of 2005, an acquaintance told me of a former tenant who had used the tiny space as an extra bedroom by cramming a folding camp bed into it. Alas, this anecdote is all I have gleaned. The little annex and lovely ghost signs are now largely hidden, eclipsed by a new housing development, thus bringing to a close this page in Tenderloin history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Joy Eclipsed.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Joy Eclipsed"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
----<br />
1. ''1964, Doubleday and Company.''<br><br />
2. ''1942, Martin Tudordale Corporation.''<br />
<br />
[[“Maestrapeace” on the Women's Building |Prev. Document]] [[Prostitute March 1917|Next Document]]<br />
<br />
<br />
[[category:Women]] [[category:1890s]] [[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:architecture]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=The_Parlor_Houses_of_Jessie_Hayman&diff=24165The Parlor Houses of Jessie Hayman2015-06-25T21:00:57Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Born 1867 in New Orleans, Annie May Wyant showed up in San Francisco sometime in the early 1890s. By 1895, using Jessie Mellon as her house name, she was boarding in Mrs. Nina Hayman’s “lodging house” at 225 Ellis Street, an address that later would become one of the best known in the annals of San Francisco prostitution. Opened in the late 1870s by Dolly Adams — former “Water Queen” of the Bella Union Theater — the Ellis Street establishment was taken over by Mrs. Hayman following Dolly’s retirement from madamship in the 1880s. Near the end of 1898, Nina Hayman retired to marry a wealthy San Francisco lumber dealer. As the house favorite, young Jessie took on her mentor’s name and business, and it was as Jessie Hayman or “Diamond Jessie” that she became famous.<br />
<br />
Jessie’s full story has been told with great warmth and wit by Curt Gentry in his book ''The Madams of San Francisco''.&sup1; Suffice for me to say that she was strict yet fair and generous with her girls, and her parlor houses were the most lavish and fashionable in the district. She was tall and elegant, a shapely redhead and a lover of diamonds whose charms (and prices) were legendary in her own time, as illustrated by the following anecdote.<br />
<br />
In the late 1890s, photographer Arnold Genthe introduced Jessie to a Grand Duke of the Imperial Russian Empire, who wanted to take her back to Russia with him. When Jessie politely declined, the Grand Duke commissioned Genthe to make a life-size enlargement of her portrait. At a Newport luncheon honoring the Grand Duke the day before he returned to Russia, His Royal Highness proposed a toast.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>To the most beautiful woman I have met in your country. She shall be nameless. Even if she were not many miles away, she would not have been included in this gathering. I ask you all to drink her health.</blockquote><br />
<br />
Thus it was that ladies of unquestioned virtue,* the cream of American society, raised their glasses and drank to a demimondaine, for a request from a Grand Duke was a command.<br />
<br />
The ultimate fate of the portrait is unknown. Perhaps it was destroyed by Bolshevik Red Guards during the 1917 October Revolution; or maybe, along with other detritus of the fallen empire, it was hidden in a cellar only to be forgotten and left to molder in darkness. No matter what actually happened to the enlargement, we know the negative was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and fire, and thus the only known photograph of Diamond Jessie is as good as forever lost.<br />
<br />
''*Or so we must suppose.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn over Taylor Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn Over Taylor Street"''' (2003)<br />
<br />
'''(340/14) 136–142 Taylor Street; Dunphy Building. Stores and offices/lofts. 4B stories; brick structure; decorative window frames including third level arches, bracketed cornice and pediment; two-part vertical composition; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation; vestibule: tile floor, sign painted on north wall: “United Railways Telegraph Schools”; alterations: ground floor, storefronts, aluminum windows, vestibule. Original owner: P. Dunphy. Architect: E.A. Bozio. 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Several months after the the 225 Ellis establishment was destroyed by the 1906 fire, Jessie moved with her girls into the top two floors of the newly-constructed Dunphy Building. There they stayed until the fall of 1907, when she acquired a new lodging house on Mason Street and furnished it as a deluxe bagnio.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Polo's-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Famous Polo’s"''' (2004)<br />
<br />
'''(341/7) 34-48 Mason Street; The Glenwood (1906); parlor house (1907); Polo’s Restaurant (1952). Storefront and loft; brick structure; decorative brickwork including rusticated piers, galvanized iron cornice; two-part vertical composition; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation; vertical neon blade sign. Alterations: ground floor remodeled. Architects: Meyers and Ward. 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
From 1907 till 1912, when she moved her girls and furnishings to Eddy Street, the Glenwood was Jessie’s parlor house. Much later it would become Polo’s Stadium Club, for many years one of San Francisco’s most popular meeting spots for fine food and drink.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Crystal-Hotel-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Crystal Hotel"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
'''(331/7) 128-132 Eddy Street; The Gotham Lodgings, parlor house, Belva Hotel, Crystal Hotel. Rooming house with forty-seven rooms and twenty-eight baths. 4B stories; brick structure; rusticated second level, upper level with decorative panels, bands, window surrounds, galvanized iron cornice; two-part vertical block; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation. Alterations: ground level completely remodeled, lobby remodeled. Original owners: Daniel O’Neil, contractor, and Cora M. Twombly. Architect Charles R. Wilson. 1908.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
130 Eddy was the last of Diamond Jessie’s brothels, from 1912 until her retirement in 1917. The first floor was leased out as a saloon, the parlors and madam’s suite were on the second floor, and the girls’ suites, dining room and kitchen were on the upper floors. With the help of Jessie’s backing, one of her girls later became a leading Hollywood madam under the name Beverly Davis. In her autobiography ''Call House Madam'',&sup2; Ms. Davis devotes several chapters to her mentor that include a description of the Eddy Street brothel.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Jessie’s prices were staggering. She had a champagne cellar with wines from all parts of the world. Whoever furnished the house knew his Place Pigalle stuff. There was the red room, the gold room, the Turkish room, the French room, the blue room. oriental couches and shaded lamps, plush parlors one after the other with deep carpets on the floor. The bedrooms upstairs were done in the best style. It reflected ‘tone’ for a parlor house all the way through.</blockquote><br />
<br />
When she died in 1923, Jessie’s net worth in diamonds and Tenderloin real estate was one hundred thousand dollars, the equivalent in 2009 dollars of well over one point two million.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Joy-of-Life-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Joy of Life"''' (2003)<br />
<br />
'''Crystal Hotel, 128-132 Eddy Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
One of my germinal photographs, the Crystal Hotel viewed from Mason Street is also one of my favorites. It captures the essence of the Tenderloin as a many-layered source of fascination. I was captivated by these walls long before I had a camera to photograph them. The faded advertisements afforded a glimpse of the past, but the peculiar, limpet-like annex was a real enigma. Could it have been a meat locker for the brothel’s kitchen? No one seemed to know. Near the end of 2005, an acquaintance told me of a former tenant who had used the tiny space as an extra bedroom by cramming a folding camp bed into it. Alas, this anecdote is all I have gleaned. The little annex and lovely ghost signs are now largely hidden, eclipsed by a new housing development, thus bringing to a close this page in Tenderloin history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Joy Eclipsed.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Joy Eclipsed"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
1. ''1964, Doubleday and Company.''<br />
2. ''1942, Martin Tudordale Corporation.''<br />
<br />
[[“Maestrapeace” on the Women's Building |Prev. Document]] [[Prostitute March 1917|Next Document]]<br />
<br />
<br />
[[category:Women]] [[category:1890s]] [[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:architecture]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Community_History_Links&diff=24164Community History Links2015-06-25T20:19:08Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>Dozens of efforts are underway to provide access to the history of San Francisco on the web.<br />
<br />
Here are some of the more useful sites we've discovered<br />
(thanks to [http://www.ronhenggeler.com/ Ron Henggeler] for a number of these).<br />
<br />
Please write us with your url if you have something that should be on this list.<br />
<br />
<br />
'''<font size=4>Primary resources:</font>'''<br />
<br />
[http://www.shapingsf.org/public-talks/index.html ''Shaping San Francisco'' Talks: online archive]<br />
<br />
[http://www.shapingsf.org/tours.html ''Shaping San Francisco'' upcoming Bicycle History Tours]<br />
<br />
[http://www.historypin.com/project/13839007-YearoftheBay/#%7Cphotos/gallery/ History Pin's photo crowdsourcing project "Year of the Bay"]<br />
<br />
[http://www.historypin.com/channels/view/id/14145017/ ''Shaping San Francisco'' channel at History Pin]<br />
<br />
[http://www.thinkwalks.org/ Thinkwalks on foot and bike with Joel Pomerantz]<br />
<br />
[http://www.davidrumsey.com/view/google-earth-browser#san-fran-city-1859 David Rumsey Map collection, 1859 US Coastal Survey Map geosynchronized with Google Maps!]<br />
<br />
[http://sfpl4.sfpl.org/librarylocations/sfhistory/sfphoto.htm The Photo Archives at the History Center] <br />
<br />
[http://sfpl.lib.ca.us/librarylocations/sfhistory/sfhistory.htm San Francisco Library History Center]<br />
<br />
[http://www.oac.cdlib.org/ Online Archive of California]<br />
<br />
[http://cdnc.ucr.edu/cdnc/cgi-bin/cdnc?a=p&p=home&e=-------en--20--1--txt-IN----- California Digital Newspaper Collection]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sfcityguides.org/ San Francisco City Guides--Neighborhood historical walking tours]<br />
<br />
[http://www.archive.org/details/movies Internet Archive]<br />
<br />
[http://www.archive.org/details/prelinger Prelinger Archives]<br />
<br />
[http://www.nps.gov/safr/ Maritime Museum National Park--Maritime History]<br />
<br />
[http://www.nps.gov/safr/learn/historyculture/library-collections.htm Maritime Research Center]<br />
<br />
[http://www.library.sfsu.edu/about/depts/larc.php Labor Archives & Research Center, SFSU]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sfsu.edu/~poetry/archives.html SFSU American Poetry Archives] An historic register of the past 50 years of poetry and related writing as it happened in San Francisco<br />
<br />
[http://www.sfm.org/ San Francisco Media Archive]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sfradiomuseum.com/schneider/articles.shtml History of Bay Area radio]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sfmuseum.org/ Museum of the City of San Francisco]<br />
(particularly the '06 quake and fire dept.)<br />
<br />
[http://www.zpub.com/sf/history/maproom2.html San Francisco Historical Maps]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sfgenealogy.com/sf/index.htm San Francisco Genealogy]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sfhistory.org/ San Francisco Museum & Historical Society] <br />
<br />
[http://localwiki.net/sf/History San Francisco LocalWiki history page]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sfheritage.org/home.html San Francisco Architectural Heritage]<br />
<br />
[http://urbanlifesigns.blogspot.com/p/forgotten-hills.html--Urban Life Signs Forgotten Hills]<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
'''<font size=4>Specific Neighborhoods, Areas, or Neighborhood Historical Associations</font>'''<br />
<br />
[http://www.outsidelands.org/ Western Neighborhoods]<br />
<br />
[http://www.thd.org Telegraph Hill Dwellers]<br />
<br />
[http://www.bernalhistoryproject.org// Bernal Heights history]<br />
<br />
[http://www.uptowntl.org The Uptown Tenderloin Historic District]<br />
<br />
[http://www.mtdavidson.org/ Mt. Davidson and its Historic Neighborhoods]<br />
<br />
[http://www.lovehaight.org/history/ San Francisco and Haight-Ashbury history]<br />
<br />
[http://www.pier70sf.org/index.htm The Historic Shipyard at Pier 70]<br />
<br />
[http://www.islaiscreek.org/ Islais Creek] <br />
<br />
[http://www.potreroarchives.com/ Potrero Hill Archives Project]<br />
<br />
[http://www.bayviewhistoryproject.org/ Bayview History Preservation Project]<br />
<br />
[http://www.presidio.gov/history/history/ Presidio History]<br />
<br />
[http://www.californiamissions.com/cahistory/dolores.html California Missions: Mission Dolores]<br />
<br />
[http://www.gardenregistry.org/ San Francisco Garden Registry: A Survey of Urban Food Production Zones]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sanfranciscohistory.org/ San Francisco History Association] <br><br />
<br />
<br />
'''<font size=4>Specific Groups</font>'''<br />
<br />
[http://www.glbthistory.org/ GLBT Historical Society]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sfaahcs.org/ San Francisco African American Historical and Cultural Society]<br />
<br />
[http://www.muwekma.org/ Muwekma Ohlone Tribe Information]<br />
<br />
[http://www.freepress.org/fleming/fleming.html Thomas Fleming on Black History]<br />
<br />
[http://www.californiabusinesshistory.com/ California's (and San Francisco's) business and management history]<br />
<br />
[http://www.christinewitzel.com/ DeBoom Family History]<br />
<br />
<br />
'''<font size=4>Curious and Entertaining Local History Sites</font>'''<br />
<br />
<br />
[http://usingsfhistory.com/ Using San Francisco History] a fine historiographical collection of blog entries relating to San Francisco history<br />
<br />
[http://burritojustice.com/ Burrito Justice, one of the best local bloggers, full of history and sharp insights]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sparkletack.com/ San Francisco History Podcasts from Sparkletack]<br />
<br />
[http://www.trampsofsanfrancisco.com/ Tramps of San Francisco: In search of San Francisco's forgotten histories]<br />
<br />
[http://www.americahurrah.com/ Bill Roddy's America Hurrah!]<br />
<br />
[http://www.bopsecrets.org/rexroth/sf/index.htm Kenneth Rexroth's San Francisco]<br />
<br />
[http://www.historysmith.com/index.html Memories of San Francisco]<br />
<br />
[http://wild-bohemian.com/hip-dbf.htm Who's Who of "Haight Ashbury Era"]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sanfranciscomemories.com/ppie/panamapacific.html 1915 Exposition Fair]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sanfranciscomemoirs.com/ Malcolm Barker's San Francisco Memoirs]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sfcablecar.com/ San Francisco Cable Cars]<br />
<br />
[http://www.sonic.net/~laird/landmarks/counties/San_Francisco.html California Landmarks: San Francisco]<br />
<br />
[http://www.mistersf.com/ Hank Donat's Mister SF]<br />
<br />
[http://www.thomasbachand.com/animation/sfgold.html Thomas Bachand's 360 degree animation of San Francisco in 1851]<br />
<br />
[http://www.grandtimes.com/barbary.html The Barbary Coast trail]<br />
<br />
[http://www.anchorbrewing.com/san_francisco/telegraph_hill.htm Anchor Steam- Telegraph Hill]<br />
<br />
[http://members.tripod.com/~WaipahuHaole1/SanFrancisco.html Digging in downtown SF c. 1978]<br />
<br />
[http://oaklandwiki.org/History Oakland LocalWiki history page]<br />
<br />
[http://localwiki.net/berkeley/City_History Berkeley LocalWiki history page]<br />
<br />
[http://upfromthedeep.com/ Up From The Deep] photo essays documenting the past and present of San Francisco's central city</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=User:Tobymarx&diff=24163User:Tobymarx2015-06-25T19:36:25Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>For nearly two decades, I was a pianist, composer, sound designer, electronics technician and recording engineer. I wrote music for motion pictures, theater and performance art, designed custom audio equipment, recorded and produced albums and twelve-inch 45s for various artists, and occasionally played the piano in live performances. These days, my time is divided between taking pictures, writing, and designing electronic gadgets and toys. I began photographing San Francisco's central city in 2003, and in 2007-8 worked with architectural historian Michael Corbett* on a comprehensive survey of Tenderloin architecture that conclusively defined the extent of the Uptown Tenderloin Historic District and nominated it to the National Register of Historic Places, a sanction that was officially bestowed by the National Park Service in 2009. My own history of the central city has been slowly evolving since 2008 on my website<br />
[http://upfromthedeep.com/ Up From The Deep].<br />
<br />
''*author of '''Splendid Survivors''' and '''Port City''', two of the best books ever written about San Francisco’s architectural heritage.''</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=The_Parlor_Houses_of_Jessie_Hayman&diff=24162The Parlor Houses of Jessie Hayman2015-06-25T18:48:51Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Born 1867 in New Orleans, Annie May Wyant showed up in San Francisco sometime in the early 1890s. By 1895, using Jessie Mellon as her house name, she was boarding in Mrs. Nina Hayman’s “lodging house” at 225 Ellis Street, an address that later would become one of the best known in the annals of San Francisco prostitution. Opened in the late 1870s by Dolly Adams — former “Water Queen” of the Bella Union Theater — the Ellis Street establishment was taken over by Mrs. Hayman following Dolly’s retirement from madamship in the 1880s. Near the end of 1898, Nina Hayman retired to marry a wealthy San Francisco lumber dealer. As the house favorite, young Jessie took on her mentor’s name and business, and it was as Jessie Hayman or “Diamond Jessie” that she became famous.<br />
<br />
Jessie’s full story has been told with great warmth and wit by Curt Gentry in his book ''The Madams of San Francisco''.&sup1; Suffice for me to say that she was strict yet fair and generous with her girls, and her parlor houses were the most lavish and fashionable in the district. She was tall and elegant, a shapely redhead and a lover of diamonds whose charms (and prices) were legendary in her own time, as illustrated by the following anecdote.<br />
<br />
In the late 1890s, photographer Arnold Genthe introduced Jessie to a Grand Duke of the Imperial Russian Empire, who wanted to take her back to Russia with him. When Jessie politely declined, the Grand Duke commissioned Genthe to make a life-size enlargement of her portrait. At a Newport luncheon honoring the Grand Duke the day before he returned to Russia, His Royal Highness proposed a toast.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>To the most beautiful woman I have met in your country. She shall be nameless. Even if she were not many miles away, she would not have been included in this gathering. I ask you all to drink her health.</blockquote><br />
<br />
Thus it was that ladies of unquestioned virtue,* the cream of American society, raised their glasses and drank to a demimondaine, for a request from a Grand Duke was a command.<br />
<br />
The ultimate fate of the portrait is unknown. Perhaps it was destroyed by Bolshevik Red Guards during the 1917 October Revolution; or maybe, along with other detritus of the fallen empire, it was hidden in a cellar only to be forgotten and left to molder in darkness. No matter what actually happened to the enlargement, we know the negative was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and fire, and thus the only known photograph of Diamond Jessie is as good as forever lost.<br />
<br />
''*Or so we must suppose.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn over Taylor Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn Over Taylor Street"'''<br />
<br />
'''(340/14) 136–142 Taylor Street; Dunphy Building. Stores and offices/lofts. 4B stories; brick structure; decorative window frames including third level arches, bracketed cornice and pediment; two-part vertical composition; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation; vestibule: tile floor, sign painted on north wall: “United Railways Telegraph Schools”; alterations: ground floor, storefronts, aluminum windows, vestibule. Original owner: P. Dunphy. Architect: E.A. Bozio. 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Several months after the the 225 Ellis establishment was destroyed by the 1906 fire, Jessie moved with her girls into the top two floors of the newly-constructed Dunphy Building. There they stayed until the fall of 1907, when she acquired a new lodging house on Mason Street and furnished it as a deluxe bagnio.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Polo's-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Famous Polo’s"'''<br />
<br />
'''(341/7) 34-48 Mason Street; The Glenwood (1906); parlor house (1907); Polo’s Restaurant (1952). Storefront and loft; brick structure; decorative brickwork including rusticated piers, galvanized iron cornice; two-part vertical composition; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation; vertical neon blade sign. Alterations: ground floor remodeled. Architects: Meyers and Ward. 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
From 1907 till 1912, when she moved her girls and furnishings to Eddy Street, the Glenwood was Jessie’s parlor house. Much later it would become Polo’s Stadium Club, for many years one of San Francisco’s most popular meeting spots for fine food and drink.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Crystal-Hotel-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Crystal Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
'''(331/7) 128-132 Eddy Street; The Gotham Lodgings, parlor house, Belva Hotel, Crystal Hotel. Rooming house with forty-seven rooms and twenty-eight baths. 4B stories; brick structure; rusticated second level, upper level with decorative panels, bands, window surrounds, galvanized iron cornice; two-part vertical block; Renaissance/Baroque ornamentation. Alterations: ground level completely remodeled, lobby remodeled. Original owners: Daniel O’Neil, contractor, and Cora M. Twombly. Architect Charles R. Wilson. 1908.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
130 Eddy was the last of Diamond Jessie’s brothels, from 1912 until her retirement in 1917. The first floor was leased out as a saloon, the parlors and madam’s suite were on the second floor, and the girls’ suites, dining room and kitchen were on the upper floors. With the help of Jessie’s backing, one of her girls later became a leading Hollywood madam under the name Beverly Davis. In her autobiography ''Call House Madam'',&sup2; Ms. Davis devotes several chapters to her mentor that include a description of the Eddy Street brothel.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Jessie’s prices were staggering. She had a champagne cellar with wines from all parts of the world. Whoever furnished the house knew his Place Pigalle stuff. There was the red room, the gold room, the Turkish room, the French room, the blue room. oriental couches and shaded lamps, plush parlors one after the other with deep carpets on the floor. The bedrooms upstairs were done in the best style. It reflected ‘tone’ for a parlor house all the way through.</blockquote><br />
<br />
When she died in 1923, Jessie’s net worth in diamonds and Tenderloin real estate was one hundred thousand dollars, the equivalent in 2009 dollars of well over one point two million.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Joy-of-Life-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Joy of Life"'''<br />
<br />
'''Crystal Hotel, 128-132 Eddy Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
One of my germinal photographs, the Crystal Hotel viewed from Mason Street is also one of my favorites. It captures the essence of the Tenderloin as a many-layered source of fascination. I was captivated by these walls long before I had a camera to photograph them. The faded advertisements afforded a glimpse of the past, but the peculiar, limpet-like annex was a real enigma. Could it have been a meat locker for the brothel’s kitchen? No one seemed to know. Near the end of 2005, an acquaintance told me of a former tenant who had used the tiny space as an extra bedroom by cramming a folding camp bed into it. Alas, this anecdote is all I have gleaned. The little annex and lovely ghost signs are now largely hidden, eclipsed by a new housing development, thus bringing to a close this page in Tenderloin history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Joy Eclipsed.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Joy Eclipsed"'''<br />
<br />
1. ''1964, Doubleday and Company.''<br />
<br />
2. ''1942, Martin Tudordale Corporation.''<br />
<br />
[[“Maestrapeace” on the Women's Building |Prev. Document]] [[Prostitute March 1917|Next Document]]<br />
<br />
<br />
[[category:Women]] [[category:1890s]] [[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:architecture]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Joy_Eclipsed.jpg&diff=24161File:Joy Eclipsed.jpg2015-06-25T18:31:29Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Dawn_over_Taylor_Street.jpg&diff=24160File:Dawn over Taylor Street.jpg2015-06-25T18:29:53Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2003</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2003</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Marshall_Square&diff=24159Marshall Square2015-06-25T08:07:00Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:City-Hall c1900.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''City Hall, circa 1900. As photographed from the rooftop of the bygone Mechanic’s Pavilion at Hayes and Larkin, the old City Hall is bounded in front by the diagonal slash of City Hall Avenue extending rightward to Leavenworth and McAllister from Larkin Street on the left.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: California State Library''<br />
<br />
Marshall Square was a plaza that connected Market Street with City Hall Avenue,* a parallel frontage road for the [[Old City Hall of SF|old City Hall]]. When the old City Hall was destroyed by the 1906 earthquake and fire, the design for a [[New City Hall|new Civic Center]] demanded the reshaping of grid lines. City Hall Avenue was completely obliterated and Marshall Square became part of the Hyde Street extension to Market. Opened in 1926, the office building and theater at the corner of Hyde and Market is the namesake of Marshall Square, though anymore it is known only by the name of its theater, the Orpheum.<br />
<br />
''*originally named Park Avenue.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:SF-Map 1904-(detail).jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''San Francisco Business District Map (detail), 1904. Marshall Square is circled in red.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br />
<br />
[[Image:City-Hall c1890s-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''City Hall, circa 1890s. Shot from Eighth Street just below Market, this view looks straight across the Pioneer Monument in the middle of Marshall Square to the old City Hall. Crowning its Baroque dome is the Goddess of Progress, an iron statue with a corona of electric light bulbs.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: California State Library''<br />
<br />
Designed piecemeal by seven different architects; shoddily constructed with compromised materials over a period of twenty-seven years at a cost of six million dollars; the old City Hall was a disgraceful mess, the malodorous* embodiment of municipal graft. Nine years after its completion, it was all but destroyed by the 1906 earthquake and fire.<br />
<br />
''*The stench of raw sewage frequently permeated the superstructure’s poorly ventilated chambers and corridors, a consequence of faulty plumbing.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:City-Hall-Ave 1899.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''City Hall Avenue, 1899. Looking northwest from atop the Odd Fellows Building at Seventh and Market, we see the east end of City Hall Avenue intersecting with McAllister and Leavenworth Streets, opposite the Hall of Records on the left.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: California State Library''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pioneer-Monument 1906.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pioneer Monument, Marshall Square, 1906. A view looking north across City Hall Avenue, with the ruins of the [[Old City Hall of SF|old City Hall]] in the background.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Built in 1894 with money bequeathed by real estate magnate James Lick, sculptor Frank Happersberger’s Pioneer Monument mythologizes the story of San Francisco’s supposed “manifest destiny.” As told by the empire builders themselves,* it is an unabashedly romanticized story of empire building that depicts Native Americans as a docile and subservient people conquered by the Argonauts, nom de guerre of pioneering gold miners. Contrary to both reality and Lick’s final wishes, the monument also places Mining ahead of Agriculture in order of importance, if not sustainability. Taken from the Great Seal of California, the figure that crowns the monument is Minerva, Roman goddess of wisdom and sponsor of arts, trade and technology. As a goddess born fully-grown, she symbolizes California’s direct attainment of statehood without first becoming a U.S. territory.<br />
<br />
''*Lick was a founder of the ultra-exclusive Society of California Pioneers.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:City-Hall-Avenue 1910.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''City Hall Avenue, 1910. Looking southwest from Leavenworth Street, all that remains of the old City Hall is the domed Hall of Records. It was razed in October 1916 by the Dolan Wrecking Company.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
[[Image:SF-Call 29may1912-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Illustration, San Francisco Call, 29 May 1912. “Scheme B” plan for the Civic Center. Chaired by John Galen Howard, the consulting architects included Frederick H. Meyer, and John Reid, Jr. Note the extension of Hyde Street, where the site of Marshall Square has been circled in red. Also of interest are the proposed sites for a library, art gallery, opera house and state building.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: California Digital Newspaper Collection''<br />
<br />
As things turned out, City Hall and the Civic Auditorium were the only Civic Center structures completed by 1915, just in time for the opening of the Panama Pacific International Exposition. The Civic Auditorium was in fact specifically designed for the PPIE and is one of the few exposition buildings still remaining. It was renamed the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium in 1992, in memory of the City’s renowned concert promoter. The ''beaux-arts'' Main Public Library was built in 1917 on the site proposed for the opera house. Following extensive remodeling under the direction of Italian architect Gae Aulenti, the building became home to the Asian Art Museum in 2003. The new Main Library, erected 1993-95 and opened in 1996, was built on the site originally proposed for a library. 1922 saw the opening of the California State Building at 350 McAllister, proposed site of the art gallery. Today, the ''beaux-arts'' granite structure is home to the Supreme Court of California. Opened in 1932, both the ''beaux-arts'' War Memorial Opera House and its twin sister, the War Memorial Veteran’s Building (home to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art until 1994), were constructed on Van Ness Avenue, opposite City Hall. The site proposed for a state building, now part of the United Nations Plaza, is where the ''beaux-arts'' Federal Office Building was constructed between 1934 and 1936.<br />
<br />
As composed of these seven ''beaux-arts'' buildings, the San Francisco Civic Center is widely considered as one of the most successful manifestations of the City Beautiful Movement. Listed in the National Register of Historic Places in October 1978, it was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1987.<br />
<br />
[[Image:City_Hall.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"City Hall"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Civic_Auditorium.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Civic Auditorium"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Asian_Art_Museum.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Asian Art Museum"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:State_Buildings.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"State Building"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Opera_House_Lamp.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Opera House Lamp"''' (2003)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gateway_Lamp.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gateway Lamp"''' (2003)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
A gated pedestrian walkway &mdash; in truth, a tiny park &mdash; separates the Opera House and the Veterans Building (partly visible in the background of this photo).<br />
<br />
[[Image:Market-&-8th 1912.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Market and Eighth, 1912. The view is to the northeast along Market Street as photographed from the southwest corner of Eighth Street, opposite Marshall Square. On the left is the old Hall of Records on City Hall Avenue.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, Jesse B. Cooke Collection''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Marshall-Sq 1914.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Marshall Square, 1914. When this photograph was taken, Marshall Square and City Hall Avenue were little more than artifacts of former times. The old City Hall had been demolished and construction of the new City Hall and Civic Auditorium was nearing completion. Together with its associated infrastructure and architecture, City Hall Avenue was anomalous to the evolving urban fabric. Soon, every trace of it would be expunged. Marshall Square as a plaza would also disappear, though its eastern pavement would endure as part of the Hyde Street extension. The Pioneer Monument remained in place until 1993, when it was moved to the orphaned block of Fulton Street between Hyde and Larkin, to make way for the new Main Library.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, Jesse B. Cooke Collection''<br />
<br />
[[Image:New-City-Hall c1915-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''New City Hall, circa 1915. Looking south from Larkin and McAllister, the new Civic Auditorium is in the background to the left. The block-long excavation in the foreground marks the site of the California State Building, completed in 1922.'''<br />
<br />
''Source: San Francisco History Center, S.F. Public Library (R.J. Waters & Co.)''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Museum_&_Federal_Bldgs.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Asian Art Museum and Federal Buildings"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Old_Federal_Building.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Old Federal Building"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Now occupied by the General Services Administration, the old Federal Office Building was constructed near the site of the former Hall of Records. In 1975, the building became an integral part of the newly-constructed UN Plaza, a 2.6 acre pedestrian mall designed by Lawrence Halprin to commemorate the 1945 signing of the United Nations Charter at the War Memorial Opera House. The plaza was rededicated by visiting members of the UN General Assembly in 1995. Following much-needed renovations, it was again rededicated during World Environment Day in 2005. The new Federal Office Building is on Mission, across Seventh Street from the Ninth Circuit Appellate Court.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Bolivar-monument.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Bolivar Monument"''' (2006)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger'<br />
<br />
At the west entrance to the United Nations Plaza, aligned with the Pioneer Monument and City Hall, stands a monument to Simon Bolivar, the founder of Bolivia and liberator of Columbia, Ecuador, Panama, Peru and Venezuela. Dedicated on 06 December 1984 by Dr. Jaimie Lusinchi, President of Venezuela, the monument is a copy of Adamo Tadolina’s original nineteenth-century sculpture that stands in the Plaza del la Constitucion in Lima, Peru. On the left of this photo is the new Main Library.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Farmer's_Market.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Farmers Market"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
One of the nicest things to flourish in the central city in more recent years is a farmers market, which takes over the United Nations Plaza every Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Produce_Stand.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Produce Stand"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
'Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Fresh_Flowers.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Fresh Flowers"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
'Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Marshall-Sq-Building 1926.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Marshall Square Building, 1926. Until the early 1990s, the Marshall Square Building’s storefront arcades were occupied by a pharmacy on the corner and various small businesses that added much to the character and color of Market Street. One business I particularly remember bore the name of its proprietor, “Mister San Francisco,” a dapper fellow with an extraordinarily long, waxed, and elaborately curled Snidely Whiplash mustache, who conducted off-the-beaten-path tours of the local night life.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Marshall-Sq-Building 1928.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Marshall Square Building, 1928. Revealed in this view is a corner of the Pioneer Monument at the foot of the Hyde Street extension on the left.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, Jesse B. Cooke Collection''<br />
<br />
After the Marshall Square Building was purchased by its current owners, tenants were forced to leave, some sooner than others. Last to go was the corner pharmacy. While the theater thrived, the Marshall Square Building itself was neglected; characterized by darkened storefronts, empty save for odd bits of debris left behind by departed businesses. By the time the Pioneer Monument was moved to Fulton Street, every storefront was vacant and soon would be sealed and stuccoed-over. Where once were variety and commerce, there now are anonymous windows and blank wall, prosaic and drear. Marshall Square has already faded from civic memory, and with antecedents thoroughly obscured, its namesake is only known as the Orpheum Theater.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Marshall-Square-Building-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Marshall Square Building''' (2012)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Bottom left in this photo is a corner of the new Main Library.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Orpheum-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Orpheum"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
'''1192 Market Street. Marshall Square Building; office building, theater, and storefronts. 4B stories, steel frame and concrete construction; cast concrete and stucco facade, two-story bays with casement windows and spandrels; three-part vertical composition; Spanish Moorish/Spanish Baroque design. Alterations: remodeled theater entrance; new blade sign and marquee; decorations stripped from spandrels; finials removed; storefronts filled in and stuccoed. Current owner: Shorenstein Hays Nederlander Organization. Architect: B. Marcus Priteca. 1926.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Christened the Pantages when it opened in 1926, the theater was designed as a vaudeville house to replace the original Pantages Theater at 939 Market Street. A few years later, it was sold to RKO and soon thereafter reopened as the Orpheum, a first-run movie house. From the premiere of ''This Is Cinerama!'' on Christmas Day 1953 until the final showing of ''Ice Station Zebra'' early in 1970, the Orpheum was San Francisco’s foremost Cinerama cinema. The theater was closed for a short time and then reopened in 1977 as a venue for live theater, but the conversion was unsuccessful and the theater was closed once again. It was purchased in 1981 by the Shorenstein Hays Nederlander Organization and since then has been a successful showcase for traveling Broadway shows.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Orpheum c1931.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Orpheum Theater, 1931.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Orpheum_1962.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Orpheum Theater, 1962'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library (Larry Moon)''<br />
<br />
[[Rezoning the Tenderloin Leads to Nonprofit Housing Development|Prev. Document]] [[Fallen from Grace: The Hibernia Bank Building |Next Document]]<br />
<br />
[[category:Civic Center]] [[category:Roads]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Real estate]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1930s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1970s]] [[category:1970s]] [[category:1980s]] [[category:2000s]] [[category:monuments]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Marshall_Square&diff=24158Marshall Square2015-06-25T08:03:28Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:City-Hall c1900.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''City Hall, circa 1900. As photographed from the rooftop of the bygone Mechanic’s Pavilion at Hayes and Larkin, the old City Hall is bounded in front by the diagonal slash of City Hall Avenue extending rightward to Leavenworth and McAllister from Larkin Street on the left.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: California State Library''<br />
<br />
Marshall Square was a plaza between Market Street and City Hall Avenue (originally named Park Avenue), a short street between Larkin and Leavenworth fronting the After the old City Hall was destroyed by the 1906 earthquake, the design for a Marshall Square was a plaza that connected Market Street with City Hall Avenue,* a parallel frontage road for the [[Old City Hall of SF|old City Hall]]. When the old City Hall was destroyed by the 1906 earthquake and fire, the design for a [[New City Hall|new Civic Center]] demanded the reshaping of grid lines. City Hall Avenue was completely obliterated and Marshall Square became part of the Hyde Street extension to Market. Opened in 1926, the office building and theater at the corner of Hyde and Market is the namesake of Marshall Square, though anymore it is known only by the name of its theater, the Orpheum.<br />
<br />
''*originally named Park Avenue.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:SF-Map 1904-(detail).jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''San Francisco Business District Map (detail), 1904. Marshall Square is circled in red.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br />
<br />
[[Image:City-Hall c1890s-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''City Hall, circa 1890s. Shot from Eighth Street just below Market, this view looks straight across the Pioneer Monument in the middle of Marshall Square to the old City Hall. Crowning its Baroque dome is the Goddess of Progress, an iron statue with a corona of electric light bulbs.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: California State Library''<br />
<br />
Designed piecemeal by seven different architects; shoddily constructed with compromised materials over a period of twenty-seven years at a cost of six million dollars; the old City Hall was a disgraceful mess, the malodorous* embodiment of municipal graft. Nine years after its completion, it was all but destroyed by the 1906 earthquake and fire.<br />
<br />
''*The stench of raw sewage frequently permeated the superstructure’s poorly ventilated chambers and corridors, a consequence of faulty plumbing.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:City-Hall-Ave 1899.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''City Hall Avenue, 1899. Looking northwest from atop the Odd Fellows Building at Seventh and Market, we see the east end of City Hall Avenue intersecting with McAllister and Leavenworth Streets, opposite the Hall of Records on the left.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: California State Library''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pioneer-Monument 1906.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pioneer Monument, Marshall Square, 1906. A view looking north across City Hall Avenue, with the ruins of the [[Old City Hall of SF|old City Hall]] in the background.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Built in 1894 with money bequeathed by real estate magnate James Lick, sculptor Frank Happersberger’s Pioneer Monument mythologizes the story of San Francisco’s supposed “manifest destiny.” As told by the empire builders themselves,* it is an unabashedly romanticized story of empire building that depicts Native Americans as a docile and subservient people conquered by the Argonauts, nom de guerre of pioneering gold miners. Contrary to both reality and Lick’s final wishes, the monument also places Mining ahead of Agriculture in order of importance, if not sustainability. Taken from the Great Seal of California, the figure that crowns the monument is Minerva, Roman goddess of wisdom and sponsor of arts, trade and technology. As a goddess born fully-grown, she symbolizes California’s direct attainment of statehood without first becoming a U.S. territory.<br />
<br />
''*Lick was a founder of the ultra-exclusive Society of California Pioneers.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:City-Hall-Avenue 1910.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''City Hall Avenue, 1910. Looking southwest from Leavenworth Street, all that remains of the old City Hall is the domed Hall of Records. It was razed in October 1916 by the Dolan Wrecking Company.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
[[Image:SF-Call 29may1912-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Illustration, San Francisco Call, 29 May 1912. “Scheme B” plan for the Civic Center. Chaired by John Galen Howard, the consulting architects included Frederick H. Meyer, and John Reid, Jr. Note the extension of Hyde Street, where the site of Marshall Square has been circled in red. Also of interest are the proposed sites for a library, art gallery, opera house and state building.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: California Digital Newspaper Collection''<br />
<br />
As things turned out, City Hall and the Civic Auditorium were the only Civic Center structures completed by 1915, just in time for the opening of the Panama Pacific International Exposition. The Civic Auditorium was in fact specifically designed for the PPIE and is one of the few exposition buildings still remaining. It was renamed the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium in 1992, in memory of the City’s renowned concert promoter. The ''beaux-arts'' Main Public Library was built in 1917 on the site proposed for the opera house. Following extensive remodeling under the direction of Italian architect Gae Aulenti, the building became home to the Asian Art Museum in 2003. The new Main Library, erected 1993-95 and opened in 1996, was built on the site originally proposed for a library. 1922 saw the opening of the California State Building at 350 McAllister, proposed site of the art gallery. Today, the ''beaux-arts'' granite structure is home to the Supreme Court of California. Opened in 1932, both the ''beaux-arts'' War Memorial Opera House and its twin sister, the War Memorial Veteran’s Building (home to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art until 1994), were constructed on Van Ness Avenue, opposite City Hall. The site proposed for a state building, now part of the United Nations Plaza, is where the ''beaux-arts'' Federal Office Building was constructed between 1934 and 1936.<br />
<br />
As composed of these seven ''beaux-arts'' buildings, the San Francisco Civic Center is widely considered as one of the most successful manifestations of the City Beautiful Movement. Listed in the National Register of Historic Places in October 1978, it was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1987.<br />
<br />
[[Image:City_Hall.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"City Hall"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Civic_Auditorium.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Civic Auditorium"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Asian_Art_Museum.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Asian Art Museum"''' (2011)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:State_Buildings.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"State Building"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Opera_House_Lamp.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Opera House Lamp"''' (2003)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gateway_Lamp.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gateway Lamp"''' (2003)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
A gated pedestrian walkway &mdash; in truth, a tiny park &mdash; separates the Opera House and the Veterans Building (partly visible in the background of this photo).<br />
<br />
[[Image:Market-&-8th 1912.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Market and Eighth, 1912. The view is to the northeast along Market Street as photographed from the southwest corner of Eighth Street, opposite Marshall Square. On the left is the old Hall of Records on City Hall Avenue.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, Jesse B. Cooke Collection''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Marshall-Sq 1914.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Marshall Square, 1914. When this photograph was taken, Marshall Square and City Hall Avenue were little more than artifacts of former times. The old City Hall had been demolished and construction of the new City Hall and Civic Auditorium was nearing completion. Together with its associated infrastructure and architecture, City Hall Avenue was anomalous to the evolving urban fabric. Soon, every trace of it would be expunged. Marshall Square as a plaza would also disappear, though its eastern pavement would endure as part of the Hyde Street extension. The Pioneer Monument remained in place until 1993, when it was moved to the orphaned block of Fulton Street between Hyde and Larkin, to make way for the new Main Library.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, Jesse B. Cooke Collection''<br />
<br />
[[Image:New-City-Hall c1915-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''New City Hall, circa 1915. Looking south from Larkin and McAllister, the new Civic Auditorium is in the background to the left. The block-long excavation in the foreground marks the site of the California State Building, completed in 1922.'''<br />
<br />
''Source: San Francisco History Center, S.F. Public Library (R.J. Waters & Co.)''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Museum_&_Federal_Bldgs.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Asian Art Museum and Federal Buildings"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Old_Federal_Building.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Old Federal Building"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Now occupied by the General Services Administration, the old Federal Office Building was constructed near the site of the former Hall of Records. In 1975, the building became an integral part of the newly-constructed UN Plaza, a 2.6 acre pedestrian mall designed by Lawrence Halprin to commemorate the 1945 signing of the United Nations Charter at the War Memorial Opera House. The plaza was rededicated by visiting members of the UN General Assembly in 1995. Following much-needed renovations, it was again rededicated during World Environment Day in 2005. The new Federal Office Building is on Mission, across Seventh Street from the Ninth Circuit Appellate Court.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Bolivar-monument.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Bolivar Monument"''' (2006)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger'<br />
<br />
At the west entrance to the United Nations Plaza, aligned with the Pioneer Monument and City Hall, stands a monument to Simon Bolivar, the founder of Bolivia and liberator of Columbia, Ecuador, Panama, Peru and Venezuela. Dedicated on 06 December 1984 by Dr. Jaimie Lusinchi, President of Venezuela, the monument is a copy of Adamo Tadolina’s original nineteenth-century sculpture that stands in the Plaza del la Constitucion in Lima, Peru. On the left of this photo is the new Main Library.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Farmer's_Market.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Farmers Market"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
One of the nicest things to flourish in the central city in more recent years is a farmers market, which takes over the United Nations Plaza every Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Produce_Stand.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Produce Stand"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
'Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Fresh_Flowers.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Fresh Flowers"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
'Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Marshall-Sq-Building 1926.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Marshall Square Building, 1926. Until the early 1990s, the Marshall Square Building’s storefront arcades were occupied by a pharmacy on the corner and various small businesses that added much to the character and color of Market Street. One business I particularly remember bore the name of its proprietor, “Mister San Francisco,” a dapper fellow with an extraordinarily long, waxed, and elaborately curled Snidely Whiplash mustache, who conducted off-the-beaten-path tours of the local night life.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Marshall-Sq-Building 1928.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Marshall Square Building, 1928. Revealed in this view is a corner of the Pioneer Monument at the foot of the Hyde Street extension on the left.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, Jesse B. Cooke Collection''<br />
<br />
After the Marshall Square Building was purchased by its current owners, tenants were forced to leave, some sooner than others. Last to go was the corner pharmacy. While the theater thrived, the Marshall Square Building itself was neglected; characterized by darkened storefronts, empty save for odd bits of debris left behind by departed businesses. By the time the Pioneer Monument was moved to Fulton Street, every storefront was vacant and soon would be sealed and stuccoed-over. Where once were variety and commerce, there now are anonymous windows and blank wall, prosaic and drear. Marshall Square has already faded from civic memory, and with antecedents thoroughly obscured, its namesake is only known as the Orpheum Theater.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Marshall-Square-Building-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Marshall Square Building''' (2012)<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Bottom left in this photo is a corner of the new Main Library.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Orpheum-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Orpheum"''' (2008)<br />
<br />
'''1192 Market Street. Marshall Square Building; office building, theater, and storefronts. 4B stories, steel frame and concrete construction; cast concrete and stucco facade, two-story bays with casement windows and spandrels; three-part vertical composition; Spanish Moorish/Spanish Baroque design. Alterations: remodeled theater entrance; new blade sign and marquee; decorations stripped from spandrels; finials removed; storefronts filled in and stuccoed. Current owner: Shorenstein Hays Nederlander Organization. Architect: B. Marcus Priteca. 1926.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Christened the Pantages when it opened in 1926, the theater was designed as a vaudeville house to replace the original Pantages Theater at 939 Market Street. A few years later, it was sold to RKO and soon thereafter reopened as the Orpheum, a first-run movie house. From the premiere of ''This Is Cinerama!'' on Christmas Day 1953 until the final showing of ''Ice Station Zebra'' early in 1970, the Orpheum was San Francisco’s foremost Cinerama cinema. The theater was closed for a short time and then reopened in 1977 as a venue for live theater, but the conversion was unsuccessful and the theater was closed once again. It was purchased in 1981 by the Shorenstein Hays Nederlander Organization and since then has been a successful showcase for traveling Broadway shows.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Orpheum c1931.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Orpheum Theater, 1931.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Orpheum_1962.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Orpheum Theater, 1962'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library (Larry Moon)''<br />
<br />
[[Rezoning the Tenderloin Leads to Nonprofit Housing Development|Prev. Document]] [[Fallen from Grace: The Hibernia Bank Building |Next Document]]<br />
<br />
[[category:Civic Center]] [[category:Roads]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Real estate]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1930s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1970s]] [[category:1970s]] [[category:1980s]] [[category:2000s]] [[category:monuments]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Orpheum_1962.jpg&diff=24157File:Orpheum 1962.jpg2015-06-25T07:41:42Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div></div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Produce_Stand.jpg&diff=24156File:Produce Stand.jpg2015-06-25T07:25:26Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2008</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2008</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Farmer%27s_Market.jpg&diff=24155File:Farmer's Market.jpg2015-06-25T07:21:39Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Bolivar-monument.jpg&diff=24154File:Bolivar-monument.jpg2015-06-25T07:17:57Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2006</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2006</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Fresh_Flowers.jpg&diff=24153File:Fresh Flowers.jpg2015-06-25T06:32:47Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2008</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2008</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Museum_%26_Federal_Bldgs.jpg&diff=24152File:Museum & Federal Bldgs.jpg2015-06-25T06:31:36Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2008</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2008</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Old_Federal_Building.jpg&diff=24151File:Old Federal Building.jpg2015-06-25T06:30:50Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2008</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2008</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Gateway_Lamp.jpg&diff=24150File:Gateway Lamp.jpg2015-06-25T06:30:00Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2003</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2003</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Opera_House_Lamp.jpg&diff=24149File:Opera House Lamp.jpg2015-06-25T06:28:35Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2003</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2003</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Asian_Art_Museum.jpg&diff=24147File:Asian Art Museum.jpg2015-06-25T06:21:56Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Civic_Auditorium.jpg&diff=24146File:Civic Auditorium.jpg2015-06-25T06:21:14Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:City_Hall.jpg&diff=24145File:City Hall.jpg2015-06-25T06:19:45Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:State_Buildings.jpg&diff=24144File:State Buildings.jpg2015-06-25T06:18:31Z<p>Tobymarx: photo: Mark Ellinger, 2008</p>
<hr />
<div>photo: Mark Ellinger, 2008</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=User:Tobymarx&diff=24143User:Tobymarx2015-06-25T06:02:08Z<p>Tobymarx: A Very Brief Bio</p>
<hr />
<div>For nearly two decades, I was a pianist, composer, sound designer, electronics technician and recording engineer. I wrote music for motion pictures, theater and performance art, designed custom audio equipment, recorded and produced albums and twelve-inch 45s for various artists, and occasionally played the piano in live performances. These days, my time is divided between taking pictures, writing, and designing electronic gadgets and toys. I began photographing San Francisco's central city in 2003, and in 2007-8 worked with architectural historian Michael Corbett* on an extensive survey of Tenderloin architecture that conclusively defined the extent of the Uptown Tenderloin Historic District and nominated it to the National Register of Historic Places, a sanction that was officially bestowed by the National Park Service in 2009. My own history of the central city has been slowly evolving since 2008 on my website<br />
[http://upfromthedeep.com/ Up From The Deep].<br />
<br />
''*author of '''Splendid Survivors''' and '''Port City''', two of the best books ever written about San Francisco’s architectural heritage.''</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Fairfax.jpg&diff=24142File:Fairfax.jpg2015-06-25T00:48:21Z<p>Tobymarx: uploaded a new version of "File:Fairfax.jpg": Hotel Fairfax, 420 Eddy Street
Photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</p>
<hr />
<div>Hotel Fairfax. 420 Eddy Street.<br />
Photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=24141Sixth Street2015-06-25T00:30:49Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''Updated 24 June 2015'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''*2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the right is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper right corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-Spring 2001, I felt like the luckiest man alive when, with little more than the clothes on my back and a 690 dollar monthly income from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was home, my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself and the fundament in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.''<br><br />
''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions; men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people thought of these men as bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and promulgated by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions. Realizing that the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, he donated money to the redevelopment agency in 1954 for the preparation of a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you will see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969, many of those who would be affected joined together to form Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment (TOOR), which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a modicum of relocation support and to build a couple of residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers were not bad enough, residents must also live with the continual threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit housing corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management tends to circumvent meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing too often fails the very tenants who are least able to care for themselves. Ideally, supportive housing helps people with disabilities live independently by providing individualized services, including medical and psychiatric care, medication and appointment reminders, in-home healthcare assistance, addiction treatment, housekeeping, meal programs, and life coaching. In reality, what some nonprofits call supportive housing is little more than an administrative hierarchy of case managers who refer tenants to outside government and nonprofit service providers. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers and often lacking professional training and experience, such case managers have little time to spend with individual clients. Without on-site personal assistance and followup, some disabled tenants fall through the cracks. Unable to navigate their problems by themselves, they wind up in institutions or on the streets again.<br />
<br />
Then there are the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease hotels'''], where crimes committed by staff and management — including embezzlement, drug dealing, property theft, pandering, rape and other forms of violent assault — are disturbingly pervasive yet receive little public attention, largely because victims are persuaded to settle out of court. Prominent among master lease hotels is the [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''Seneca'''] on Sixth Street; in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned comes from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for nearly six years, and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. In all the extensive Bay Area photo archives, there are decidedly few historical images of Sixth Street, but my own photography will some day add a bit more to the record. Even though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives and thumb my nose at the relentlessly onrushing forces of urbanization and redevelopment, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Near the middle of February 2001 — one week out of the hospital and just beginning to recover from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction — I rented lodgings at the Sai Hotel for 400 dollars a month.* As this was well below what other SROs were charging, it seemed like a bargain until I actually saw what I had rented. On the top floor at the back of the building, an undersized door opened inward on a room so absurdly small, it barely qualified as a crib. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by a single-width bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room, but this was mostly taken up by a small sink and a nightstand. All that remained empty was clearance for the door. To open or close the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. A diminutive window above the nightstand provided meager illumination that barely dispelled the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient cloth-insulated wire, a naked sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but I rarely used it as the glare was intolerable. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on 690 dollars a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br> <br />
<br />
Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head, so I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. It would be many months before my surgical wounds were more or less healed. Between thrice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. Jozsef was an artisan and house-painter who had fled from Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to Jozsef’s snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef’s endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.<br />
<br />
''*Monthly rent would be 520 dollars, leaving me 170 dollars on which to live.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Fairfax.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Fairfax"'''<br />
<br />
''Hotel Fairfax. 420 Eddy Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Having lived a month in a dismal crib at the Sai, I was more than ready for a change, but the only vacancy I could find was a room at the Hotel Fairfax, a haven for heroin-addicted hustlers, prostitutes and crackheads. Peace and quiet were the rarest of commodities at the Fairfax. Management rarely ventured beyond their first-floor enclave, and hotel housekeeping was spotty and superficial at best. The upstairs bathrooms and toilets were unspeakably vile. For the most part, tenants were free to carry on however they pleased in shadowy hallways and on dark, winding stairs at all hours of the day and night. In need of a temporary hideout or a bathroom, or for reasons best left undiscovered, all kinds of unsavory characters would lurk about the upper floors late at night after sneaking up the rear fire escape. In the end, five weeks at the Fairfax was all I could stand.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
For the next few weeks, I slept sitting upright in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of the photo “Invocation” is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was shree ganeshaya namah. Over time the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until shree ganesh sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, it was comforting to know that the name of my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''*In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings, who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen.'<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from Room #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant foremost, rebuilding my sense of self by recovering memories of who I had been before life as a homeless junkie had annihilated my self-image; that, and reactivating parts of my brain that had fallen dormant during that time. To accomplish this, I used writing, drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''. Soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I had established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ars combinatoria of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Near the end of 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I have seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel. The stacks are part of a PG and E steam plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of postmodern and corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B and O Railroad. Some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges. Everything was perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people regard as lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel. Behind it is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence where it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.''<br><br />
''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In Classical architecture, the repeating, box-shaped components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
''Hugo Hotel, 200 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
The Hugo was Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant after a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make them appear animate and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls. Lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. Sightseers took untold thousands of photographs of the Hugo and its famous furniture; a housing crisis turned into public art. I photographed the Hugo’s former service alley because it showed the only wall of the hotel that had not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' endured for nearly eighteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel was universally appealing &mdash; everyone liked it &mdash; and I grew more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for almost thirty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''*”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. Demolished, plowed under and built over, the old “South of the Slot” district has been fragmented into near-oblivion, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. The Hugo Hotel was at last razed in mid-Spring 2015. Inasmuch as it helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching urbanization and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest now that the hotel is gone. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo was given new life and purpose by the artists who created "Defenestration." Transformed, the old hotel was a kind of signpost: a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present. It was a powerful presence that will not soon be forgotten.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=24140Sixth Street2015-06-25T00:14:51Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''Updated 24 June 2015'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
*''2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the right is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper right corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-Spring 2001, I felt like the luckiest man alive when, with little more than the clothes on my back and a 690 dollar monthly income from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was home, my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself and the fundament in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.''<br><br />
''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions; men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people thought of these men as bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and promulgated by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions. Realizing that the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, he donated money to the redevelopment agency in 1954 for the preparation of a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you will see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969, many of those who would be affected joined together to form Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment (TOOR), which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a modicum of relocation support and to build a couple of residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers were not bad enough, residents must also live with the continual threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit housing corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management tends to circumvent meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing too often fails the very tenants who are least able to care for themselves. Ideally, supportive housing helps people with disabilities live independently by providing individualized services, including medical and psychiatric care, medication and appointment reminders, in-home healthcare assistance, addiction treatment, housekeeping, meal programs, and life coaching. In reality, what some nonprofits call supportive housing is little more than an administrative hierarchy of case managers who refer tenants to outside government and nonprofit service providers. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers and often lacking professional training and experience, such case managers have little time to spend with individual clients. Without on-site personal assistance and followup, some disabled tenants fall through the cracks. Unable to navigate their problems by themselves, they wind up in institutions or on the streets again.<br />
<br />
Then there are the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease hotels'''], where crimes committed by staff and management — including embezzlement, drug dealing, property theft, pandering, rape and other forms of violent assault — are disturbingly pervasive yet receive little public attention, largely because victims are persuaded to settle out of court. Prominent among master lease hotels is the [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''Seneca'''] on Sixth Street; in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned comes from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for nearly six years, and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. In all the extensive Bay Area photo archives, there are decidedly few historical images of Sixth Street, but my own photography will some day add a bit more to the record. Even though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives and thumb my nose at the relentlessly onrushing forces of urbanization and redevelopment, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Near the middle of February 2001 — one week out of the hospital and just beginning to recover from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction — I rented lodgings at the Sai Hotel for 400 dollars a month.* As this was well below what other SROs were charging, it seemed like a bargain until I actually saw what I had rented. On the top floor at the back of the building, an undersized door opened inward on a room so absurdly small, it barely qualified as a crib. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by a single-width bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room, but this was mostly taken up by a small sink and a nightstand. All that remained empty was clearance for the door. To open or close the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. A diminutive window above the nightstand provided meager illumination that barely dispelled the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient cloth-insulated wire, a naked sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but I rarely used it as the glare was intolerable. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on 690 dollars a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br> <br />
<br />
Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head, so I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. It would be many months before my surgical wounds were more or less healed. Between thrice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. Jozsef was an artisan and house-painter who had fled from Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to Jozsef’s snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef’s endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.<br />
<br />
*''Monthly rent would be 520 dollars, leaving me 170 dollars on which to live.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Fairfax.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Fairfax"'''<br />
<br />
''Hotel Fairfax. 420 Eddy Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Having lived a month in a dismal crib at the Sai, I was more than ready for a change, but the only vacancy I could find was a room at the Hotel Fairfax, a haven for heroin-addicted hustlers, prostitutes and crackheads. Peace and quiet were the rarest of commodities at the Fairfax. Management rarely ventured beyond their first-floor enclave, and hotel housekeeping was spotty and superficial at best. The upstairs bathrooms and toilets were unspeakably vile. For the most part, tenants were free to carry on however they pleased in shadowy hallways and on dark, winding stairs at all hours of the day and night. In need of a temporary hideout or a bathroom, or for reasons best left undiscovered, all kinds of unsavory characters would lurk about the upper floors late at night after sneaking up the rear fire escape. In the end, five weeks at the Fairfax was all I could stand.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
For the next few weeks, I slept sitting upright in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of the photo “Invocation” is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was shree ganeshaya namah. Over time the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until shree ganesh sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, it was comforting to know that the name of my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
*''In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings, who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen.'<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from Room #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant foremost, rebuilding my sense of self by recovering memories of who I had been before life as a homeless junkie had annihilated my self-image; that, and reactivating parts of my brain that had fallen dormant during that time. To accomplish this, I used writing, drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''. Soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I had established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ars combinatoria of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Near the end of 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I have seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel. The stacks are part of a PG and E steam plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of postmodern and corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B and O Railroad. Some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges. Everything was perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people regard as lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel. Behind it is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence where it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.''<br><br />
''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In Classical architecture, the repeating, box-shaped components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
''Hugo Hotel, 200 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
The Hugo was Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant after a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make them appear animate and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls. Lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. Sightseers took untold thousands of photographs of the Hugo and its famous furniture; a housing crisis turned into public art. I photographed the Hugo’s former service alley because it showed the only wall of the hotel that had not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' endured for nearly eighteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel was universally appealing &mdash; everyone liked it &mdash; and I grew more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for almost thirty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
*''”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. Demolished, plowed under and built over, the old “South of the Slot” district has been fragmented into near-oblivion, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. The Hugo Hotel was at last razed in mid-Spring 2015. Inasmuch as it helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching urbanization and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest now that the hotel is gone. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo was given new life and purpose by the artists who created "Defenestration." Transformed, the old hotel was a kind of signpost: a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present. It was a powerful presence that will not soon be forgotten.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=24139Sixth Street2015-06-24T23:25:27Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''Updated 24 June 2015'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
*''2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the right is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper right corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-Spring 2001, I felt like the luckiest man alive when, with little more than the clothes on my back and a 690 dollar monthly income from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was home, my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself and the fundament in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.''<br><br />
''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions; men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people thought of these men as bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and promulgated by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions. Realizing that the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, he donated money to the redevelopment agency in 1954 for the preparation of a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you will see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969, many of those who would be affected joined together to form Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment (TOOR), which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a modicum of relocation support and to build a couple of residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers were not bad enough, residents must also live with the continual threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit housing corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management tends to circumvent meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing too often fails the very tenants who are least able to care for themselves. Ideally, supportive housing helps people with disabilities live independently by providing individualized services, including medical and psychiatric care, medication and appointment reminders, in-home healthcare assistance, addiction treatment, housekeeping, meal programs, and life coaching. In reality, what some nonprofits call supportive housing is little more than an administrative hierarchy of case managers who refer tenants to outside government and nonprofit service providers. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers and often lacking professional training and experience, such case managers have little time to spend with individual clients. Without on-site personal assistance and followup, some disabled tenants fall through the cracks. Unable to navigate their problems by themselves, they wind up in institutions or on the streets again.<br />
<br />
Then there are the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease hotels'''], where crimes committed by staff and management — including embezzlement, drug dealing, property theft, pandering, rape and other forms of violent assault — are disturbingly pervasive yet receive little public attention, largely because victims are persuaded to settle out of court. Prominent among master lease hotels is the [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''Seneca'''] on Sixth Street; in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned comes from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for nearly six years, and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. In all the extensive Bay Area photo archives, there are decidedly few historical images of Sixth Street, but my own photography will some day add a bit more to the record. Even though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives and thumb my nose at the relentlessly onrushing forces of urbanization and redevelopment, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Near the middle of February 2001 — one week out of the hospital and just beginning to recover from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction — I rented lodgings at the Sai Hotel for 400 dollars a month.* As this was well below what other SROs were charging, it seemed like a bargain until I actually saw what I had rented. On the top floor at the back of the building, an undersized door opened inward on a room so absurdly small, it barely qualified as a crib. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by a single-width bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room, but this was mostly taken up by a small sink and a nightstand. All that remained empty was clearance for the door. To open or close the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. A diminutive window above the nightstand provided meager illumination that barely dispelled the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient cloth-insulated wire, a naked sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but I rarely used it as the glare was intolerable. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on 690 dollars a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br> <br />
<br />
Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head, so I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. It would be many months before my surgical wounds were more or less healed. Between thrice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. Jozsef was an artisan and house-painter who had fled from Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to Jozsef’s snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef’s endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.<br />
<br />
*''Monthly rent would be 520 dollars, leaving me 170 dollars on which to live.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Fairfax.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Fairfax"'''<br />
<br />
''Hotel Fairfax. 420 Eddy Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Having lived a month in a dismal crib at the Sai, I was more than ready for a change, but the only vacancy I could find was a room at the Hotel Fairfax, a haven for heroin-addicted hustlers, prostitutes and crackheads. Peace and quiet were the rarest of commodities at the Fairfax. Management rarely ventured beyond their first-floor enclave, and hotel housekeeping was spotty and superficial at best. The upstairs bathrooms and toilets were unspeakably vile. For the most part, tenants were free to carry on however they pleased in shadowy hallways and on dark, winding stairs at all hours of the day and night. In need of a temporary hideout or a bathroom, or for reasons best left undiscovered, all kinds of unsavory characters would lurk about the upper floors late at night after sneaking up the rear fire escape. In the end, five weeks at the Fairfax was all I could stand.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
For the next few weeks, I slept sitting upright in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of the photo “Invocation” is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was shree ganeshaya namah. Over time the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until shree ganesh sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, it was comforting to know that the name of my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
*''In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings, who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen.'<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from Room #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant foremost, rebuilding my sense of self by recovering memories of who I had been before life as a homeless junkie had annihilated my self-image; that, and reactivating parts of my brain that had fallen dormant during that time. To accomplish this, I used writing, drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''. Soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I had established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ars combinatoria of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Near the end of 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I have seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel. The stacks are part of a PG and E steam plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of postmodern and corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B and O Railroad. Some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges. Everything was perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people regard as lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel. Behind it is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence where it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.''<br><br />
''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In Classical architecture, the repeating, box-shaped components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
''Hugo Hotel, 200 Sixth Street.''<br />
<br />
The Hugo was Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant after a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make them appear animate and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls. Lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. Sightseers took untold thousands of photographs of the Hugo and its famous furniture; a housing crisis turned into public art. I photographed the Hugo’s former service alley because it showed the only wall of the hotel that had not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' endured for nearly eighteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel was universally appealing &mdash; everyone liked it &mdash; and I grew more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for almost thirty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
*''”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. Demolished, plowed under and built over, the old “South of the Slot” district has been fragmented into near-oblivion, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. The Hugo Hotel was at last razed in mid-Spring 2015. Inasmuch as it helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching urbanization and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest now that the hotel is gone. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo served as a signpost: a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present, now but a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=24138Sixth Street2015-06-24T23:17:17Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''Updated 24 June 2015'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the right is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper right corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-Spring 2001, I felt like the luckiest man alive when, with little more than the clothes on my back and a 690 dollar monthly income from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was home, my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself and the fundament in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions; men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people thought of these men as bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and promulgated by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions. Realizing that the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, he donated money to the redevelopment agency in 1954 for the preparation of a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you will see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969, many of those who would be affected joined together to form Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment (TOOR), which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a modicum of relocation support and to build a couple of residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers were not bad enough, residents must also live with the continual threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit housing corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management tends to circumvent meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing too often fails the very tenants who are least able to care for themselves. Ideally, supportive housing helps people with disabilities live independently by providing individualized services, including medical and psychiatric care, medication and appointment reminders, in-home healthcare assistance, addiction treatment, housekeeping, meal programs, and life coaching. In reality, what some nonprofits call supportive housing is little more than an administrative hierarchy of case managers who refer tenants to outside government and nonprofit service providers. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers and often lacking professional training and experience, such case managers have little time to spend with individual clients. Without on-site personal assistance and followup, some disabled tenants fall through the cracks. Unable to navigate their problems by themselves, they wind up in institutions or on the streets again.<br />
<br />
Then there are the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease hotels'''], where crimes committed by staff and management — including embezzlement, drug dealing, property theft, pandering, rape and other forms of violent assault — are disturbingly pervasive yet receive little public attention, largely because victims are persuaded to settle out of court. Prominent among master lease hotels is the [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''Seneca'''] on Sixth Street; in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned comes from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for nearly six years, and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. In all the extensive Bay Area photo archives, there are decidedly few historical images of Sixth Street, but my own photography will some day add a bit more to the record. Even though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives and thumb my nose at the relentlessly onrushing forces of urbanization and redevelopment, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Near the middle of February 2001 — one week out of the hospital and just beginning to recover from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction — I rented lodgings at the Sai Hotel for 400 dollars a month.* As this was well below what other SROs were charging, it seemed like a bargain until I actually saw what I had rented. On the top floor at the back of the building, an undersized door opened inward on a room so absurdly small, it barely qualified as a crib. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by a single-width bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room, but this was mostly taken up by a small sink and a nightstand. All that remained empty was clearance for the door. To open or close the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. A diminutive window above the nightstand provided meager illumination that barely dispelled the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient cloth-insulated wire, a naked sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but I rarely used it as the glare was intolerable. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on 690 dollars a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br> <br />
<br />
Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head, so I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. It would be many months before my surgical wounds were more or less healed. Between thrice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. Jozsef was an artisan and house-painter who had fled from Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to Jozsef’s snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef’s endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.<br />
<br />
&lowast;''Monthly rent would be 520 dollars, leaving me 170 dollars on which to live.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Fairfax.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Fairfax"'''<br />
<br />
''Hotel Fairfax. 420 Eddy Street.''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Having lived a month in a dismal crib at the Sai, I was more than ready for a change, but the only vacancy I could find was a room at the Hotel Fairfax, a haven for heroin-addicted hustlers, prostitutes and crackheads. Peace and quiet were the rarest of commodities at the Fairfax. Management rarely ventured beyond their first-floor enclave, and hotel housekeeping was spotty and superficial at best. The upstairs bathrooms and toilets were unspeakably vile. For the most part, tenants were free to carry on however they pleased in shadowy hallways and on dark, winding stairs at all hours of the day and night. In need of a temporary hideout or a bathroom, or for reasons best left undiscovered, all kinds of unsavory characters would lurk about the upper floors late at night after sneaking up the rear fire escape. In the end, five weeks at the Fairfax was all I could stand.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
For the next few weeks, I slept sitting upright in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of the photo “Invocation” is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was shree ganeshaya namah. Over time the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until shree ganesh sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, it was comforting to know that the name of my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
&lowast;''In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings, who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen.'<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from Room #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant foremost, rebuilding my sense of self by recovering memories of who I had been before life as a homeless junkie had annihilated my self-image; that, and reactivating parts of my brain that had fallen dormant during that time. To accomplish this, I used writing, drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''. Soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I had established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ars combinatoria of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Near the end of 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I have seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel. The stacks are part of a PG and E steam plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of postmodern and corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B and O Railroad. Some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges. Everything was perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people regard as lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel. Behind it is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence where it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In Classical architecture, the repeating, box-shaped components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo was Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant after a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make them appear animate and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls. Lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. Sightseers took untold thousands of photographs of the Hugo and its famous furniture; a housing crisis turned into public art. I photographed the Hugo’s former service alley because it showed the only wall of the hotel that had not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' endured for nearly eighteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel was universally appealing &mdash; everyone liked it &mdash; and I grew more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for almost thirty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
&lowast;''”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. Demolished, plowed under and built over, the old “South of the Slot” district has been fragmented into near-oblivion, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. The Hugo Hotel was at last razed in mid-Spring 2015. Inasmuch as it helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching urbanization and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest now that the hotel is gone. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo served as a signpost: a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present, now but a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
[[Image:Tours-editor.gif|link=Playland]] [[Playland|Continue viewing the Editors' Favorite Pages]]<br />
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[[EARLY RESIDENTS|Prev. Document]] [[Sixth Street (Part Two)|Next Document]]<br />
<br />
[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=File:Fairfax.jpg&diff=24137File:Fairfax.jpg2015-06-24T22:38:22Z<p>Tobymarx: Hotel Fairfax. 420 Eddy Street.
Photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</p>
<hr />
<div>Hotel Fairfax. 420 Eddy Street.<br />
Photo: Mark Ellinger, 2011</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19787Sixth Street2013-03-19T16:32:48Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator. Thus in mid-Spring 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of 690 dollars from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until October 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was home, my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at St. Anthony's Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions; men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions. Since the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969, many of those who would be affected joined together to form Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment, which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers were not bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term. However, many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harm_reduction "'''harm reduction''']," which in effect means that serious problems are often ignored until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them. Instead, drug-related problems tend to be “solved” by eviction. Worst of all are the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease hotels'''], where crimes committed by staff and management—including embezzlement, drug dealing, property theft, prostitution, rape and other forms of violent assault—have been numerous and widespread yet rarely publicized, since cases involving crimes against tenants are largely settled out of court. Prominent among master lease hotels is the [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''Seneca'''] on Sixth Street; in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in Sixth Street hotels for nearly six years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record. Though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Near the middle of February 2001, a week after I left the hospital, I rented lodgings at the Sai Hotel for 400 dollars a month. As this was well below what other SROs were charging, it seemed like a bargain. When I saw what I had rented, it seemed more like a swindle. On the top floor at the back of the building was an undersized door that opened inward on an absurdly small room. I first thought I had opened the wrong door, but the number on the lintel said otherwise. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was just a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by a small sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. Above the nightstand, a diminutive window provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. More light was available from a naked sixty-watt light bulb suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head. It would be many months before I completely healed from surgery. Between twice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony's Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to have tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on Sixth Street. Jozsef was an artist and housepainter who fled Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to his snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef's endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
After a month at the Sai, I spent a hellish five weeks at the [http://upfromthedeep.com/2012/12/04/hotel-fairfax/ '''Hotel Fairfax'''] and a few weeks sleeping in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from Room #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used writing, drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s <em>Foucault’s Pendulum</em>. Soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I'd established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and <em>ars combinatoria</em> of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Near the end of 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I've seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel. The stacks are part of a PG &amp; E steam plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the "form follows function" aesthetic of postmodern and corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B &amp; O Railroad. Some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges. Everything was perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel. Behind it is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence where it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In Classical architecture, the repeating, box-shaped components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls. Lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about and squirming through the windows. Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop; a housing crisis turned into public art. I photographed the Hugo’s former service alley because it shows the only wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost: a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19785Sixth Street2013-03-18T02:51:54Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator. Thus in mid-Spring 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of 690 dollars from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until October 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was home, my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at St. Anthony's Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions; men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions. Since the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969, many of those who would be affected joined together to form Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment, which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers were not bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term. However, many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harm_reduction "'''harm reduction''']," which in effect means that serious problems are often ignored until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them. Thus widespread drug use and associated behavioral problems are commonplace in nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca''']; in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in Sixth Street hotels for nearly six years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record. Though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Near the middle of February 2001, a week after I left the hospital, I rented lodgings at the Sai Hotel for 400 dollars a month. As this was well below what other SROs were charging, it seemed like a bargain. When I saw what I had rented, it seemed more like a swindle. On the top floor at the back of the building was an undersized door that opened inward on an absurdly small room. I first thought I had opened the wrong door, but the number on the lintel said otherwise. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was just a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by a small sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. Above the nightstand, a diminutive window provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. More light was available from a naked sixty-watt light bulb suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head. It would be many months before I completely healed from surgery. Between twice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony's Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to have tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on Sixth Street. Jozsef was an artist and housepainter who fled Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to his snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef's endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
After a month at the Sai, I spent a hellish five weeks at the [http://upfromthedeep.com/2012/12/04/hotel-fairfax/ '''Hotel Fairfax'''] and a few weeks sleeping in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from Room #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used writing, drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s <em>Foucault’s Pendulum</em>. Soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I'd established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and <em>ars combinatoria</em> of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Near the end of 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I've seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel. The stacks are part of a PG &amp; E steam plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the "form follows function" aesthetic of postmodern and corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B &amp; O Railroad. Some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges. Everything was perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel. Behind it is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence where it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In Classical architecture, the repeating, box-shaped components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls. Lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about and squirming through the windows. Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop; a housing crisis turned into public art. I photographed the Hugo’s former service alley because it shows the only wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost: a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19420Sixth Street2012-12-15T11:05:22Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco's Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood's working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink on the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
[[Image:Tours-editor.gif|link=Playland]] [[Playland|Continue viewing the Editors' Favorite Pages]]<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19419Sixth Street2012-12-14T02:33:19Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco's Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood's working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink on the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
[[Image:Tours-editor.gif|link=Playland]] [[Playland|Continue viewing the Editors' Favorite Pages]]<br />
<br />
[[EARLY RESIDENTS|Prev. Document]] [[Sixth Street (Part Two)|Next Document]]<br />
<br />
[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19418Sixth Street2012-12-12T16:08:01Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco's Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood's working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. The sole electrical outlet was just above the sink in an open utility box. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19417Sixth Street2012-12-12T15:59:28Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco's Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood's working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. The sole electrical outlet was just above the sink in an open utility box, which made shaving or washing my face an electrocution hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19416Sixth Street2012-12-12T04:29:14Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco's Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood's working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. The walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink. Besides being useless, it was also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19415Sixth Street2012-12-12T04:26:56Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street. In fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. The walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink. Besides being useless, it was also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19414Sixth Street2012-12-12T04:26:02Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street; in fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. The walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink. Besides being useless, it was also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19413Sixth Street2012-12-11T23:22:23Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots that are inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street; in fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. The walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink. Besides being useless, it was also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
[[Image:Tours-editor.gif|link=Playland]] [[Playland|Continue viewing the Editors' Favorite Pages]]<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19412Sixth Street2012-12-11T18:36:26Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots that are inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street; in fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the hotel. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was just a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. By virtue of this arrangement, the walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink, so it was not only useless, but also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
[[Image:Tours-editor.gif|link=Playland]] [[Playland|Continue viewing the Editors' Favorite Pages]]<br />
<br />
[[EARLY RESIDENTS|Prev. Document]] [[Sixth Street (Part Two)|Next Document]]<br />
<br />
[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19411Sixth Street2012-12-11T18:34:40Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots that are inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street; in fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the hotel. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was just a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. By virtue of this arrangement, the walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink, so it was not only useless, but also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended from the ceiling by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
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'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
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[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
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'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19410Sixth Street2012-12-11T13:59:58Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots that are inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street; in fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-February 2001, freshly discharged from the hospital, I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the hotel. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was just a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. By virtue of this arrangement, the walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink, so it was not only useless, but also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended from the ceiling by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19409Sixth Street2012-12-11T13:42:25Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots that are inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street; in fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-February 2001, freshly discharged from the hospital, I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the hotel. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was just a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. By virtue of this arrangement, the walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink, so it was not only useless, but also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. A naked sixty-watt light bulb hung from the ceiling on a length of ancient, cloth-insulated copper wire, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19408Sixth Street2012-12-11T13:12:13Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots that are inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street; in fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-February 2001, freshly discharged from the hospital, I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the hotel. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was just a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, the only place to stand was on the bed. By virtue of this arrangement, the walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink, so it was not only useless, but also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. A naked sixty-watt light bulb hung from the ceiling on a length of ancient, cloth-insulated copper wire, but its glare was unbearable, so I used it only when absolutely necessary. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19407Sixth Street2012-12-11T04:25:40Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots that are inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street; in fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-February 2001, freshly discharged from the hospital, I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the hotel. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The only floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, the only place to stand was on the bed. By virtue of this arrangement, the walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink, so it was not only useless, but also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. A naked sixty-watt light bulb hung from the ceiling on a length of ancient, cloth-insulated copper wire, but its glare was unbearable, so I used it only when absolutely necessary. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19393Sixth Street2012-12-08T11:40:22Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots that are inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street; in fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-February 2001, freshly discharged from the hospital, I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the hotel. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The only floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, the only place to stand was on the bed. By virtue of this arrangement, the walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink, so it was not only useless, but also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. The only other light source was a sixty watt light bulb, suspended from the ceiling by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated copper wire. The glare of the unshaded bulb was unbearable, so I turned it on only when absolutely necessary. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
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[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarxhttps://foundsf.org/index.php?title=Sixth_Street&diff=19392Sixth Street2012-12-08T01:30:23Z<p>Tobymarx: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>Historical Essay</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''<br />
<br />
''by Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th_&_Minna_06.jpg ]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Minna, 18 April 1906.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley''<br><br />
<br />
After the earthquake and fire of 1906, San Francisco’s Sixth Street was rebuilt with rooming houses and residential hotels—also known as SROs, or single room occupancy hotels—that for many decades housed the working class. These days, Sixth Street is where the poor are warehoused, and the neighborhood’s working class origins are largely forgotten. As poverty is for many people an uncomfortable truth to be avoided, there are prejudicial blind spots that are inherent in the general consensus regarding Sixth Street; in fact, most people wish Sixth Street would just go away.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Pot Roast Restaurant 1927.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Pot Roast Restaurant, 1927. Long ago demolished, the Pot Roast was a Prohibition era speakeasy on the corner of Sixth and Jessie, next to the Hillsdale Hotel.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there; by listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;2005, Trafford Books.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth and Jessie, 1995. On the left is the Shree Ganeshai Hotel, and in the upper left corner are the three turret windows to my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Virginia Allyn''<br><br />
<br />
Even though at any other time in my life I would not have chosen to do so, pressing need is a powerful motivator, and thus in early 2001, while in the initial stages of recovery from a six year nightmare of homelessness and heroin addiction, and with little more than the clothes on my back and a monthly income of $690 from State Disability Insurance (SDI), I moved into the Shree Ganeshai Hotel on the corner of Sixth and Jessie. There I lived until mid-autumn 2006. From the moment I became a tenant until the day I moved out, that hotel was ''home'', my sanctum; the world wherein I reinvented myself, and the soil in which ''[http://upfromthedeep.com/ '''Up from the Deep''']'' was sprouted. The seed was a cheap digital camera that I rescued from the trash.<br />
<br />
[[Image:30-Millionth-Man 2003-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Surviving on $690 a month was a constant struggle. For a long time, my one daily meal was lunch at the St. Anthony Dining Room.'''<br />
<br />
''San Francisco Chronicle, 01 May 2003''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Conveniently-Located.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Conveniently Located"'''<br />
<br />
'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
When I immigrated to San Francisco in 1968, the South of Market area was a working class neighborhood, largely populated by laborers, off-season migrant workers, merchant marines, and retirees eking out their golden years on meager pensions, men whose sweat and toil helped make San Francisco a thriving, prosperous, world-renowned city. I soon discovered that most people believed these men were all bums and winos, characterizations that had been cultivated since the mid-50s by the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency and downtown developers, instigated by hotelier and real estate mogul Ben Swig and aided by the ''San Francisco Chronicle'' and ''News Call-Bulletin'', two of the City’s daily newspapers.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Alcoholics-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Alcoholics on Skid Road.”''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Following World War Two, the densest concentration of South of Market SROs was in the area known as Yerba Buena, just across Market Street from San Francisco’s business and shopping district. To Ben Swig, Yerba Buena was prime real estate for the expansion of commercial and civic functions, and because the most expeditious way of clearing the area would be to have it declared blighted, in 1954 he donated money to the redevelopment agency to prepare a study. Even though the money was returned by agency director and future mayor Joseph Alioto, the plan moved forward.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Men-gathered-on-Skid-Road 4.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Men gathered on Skid Road.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'' Look closely at the faces and attire of the men in this photograph and you’ll see that these same gentlemen were also posed in the next photo.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
In a campaign to discredit the neighborhood’s residents, the newspapers published articles that depicted South of Market SROs as flophouses inhabited by alcoholics and lowlifes, embellishing the stories by posing unwitting hotel residents in photos that purported to show them getting drunk on the sidewalks.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Group-of-men-on-Skid-Road 1956.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD, SAN FRANCISCO–’No one along Skid Road is likely to shop carefully.’” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1956)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br><br />
<br />
Little mention was made of the workers and retirees who were by far the majority of SRO residents. The intention was to mitigate concern for the thousands of people who were to be displaced by the razing of every SRO from Third Street to Fifth Street, thus allowing the City to save millions of dollars by sidestepping the issue of relocation. Who would care about the evictions of bums and ne’er-do-wells?<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hotel-on-Skid-Road 1952-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “SKID ROAD–This is a hotel in the wino district. It has 200 rooms renting from 50 to 75¢ a night, chiefly to old-age pensioners.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo, 1954)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In 1969 many of those who would be affected joined together to form [[TOOR (Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment)|Tenants and Owners in Opposition to Redevelopment]], which took the City to court. After a grim and protracted battle during which people were killed, buildings burned, and political organizations suppressed, the City was forced to provide a measure of relocation support and to build a few residential facilities for seniors before the area was completely gutted. Be that as it may, the cynical manipulation of public opinion successfully engendered a prejudice against hotel life that to this day shapes the common perception of Sixth Street.<br />
<br />
[[Image:St-Daniel-Hotel 1961.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Newscopy: “Slum area hotel at 259 Sixth St., owned by William H. H. Davis, president of the City Board of Permit Appeals.” ''(SF News Call-Bulletin photo by Sid Tate, 1961)'''''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
In recent years a sympathetic district supervisor helped to implement some needed improvements for the SROs that remain, but otherwise the policies of city government and law enforcement have created more problems than they have solved. As if filthy sidewalks and poorly maintained hotels with greedy owners and abusive managers weren’t bad enough, residents must also live with the constant threats of robbery and violence, because the police for years have used Sixth Street as a containment zone for crime. The corralling of criminal activity by the San Francisco Police Department and irregular, substandard maintenance by the Department of Public Works are underlying reasons why attempts to improve the appearance of the neighborhood never seem to make any lasting difference.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Winter-Evening---6th-Street.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Winter Evening, Sixth Street"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term; but many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems, and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of “harm reduction,” which in effect means ignoring things until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them, and thus widespread drug use and associated problems are commonplace in many nonprofit SROs, as are drug-related evictions.<br />
<br />
There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that are operated by way of the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease program''']; yet another issue no one will openly address, an issue that adds fuel to the fire of drug-related crime. One of the worst examples of a master lease hotel is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''the Seneca'''], in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.<br />
<br />
[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Sixth Street, circa 1950.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''<br />
<br />
I have great love for Sixth Street, not for what it has become, but for what lies beneath the veneer of crime and decay, invisible to all except those who live and work there: its people and its history. Much of what I have learned has come from the stories of old-timers who have lived and worked on Sixth Street for many years. I also have the experience of living in a Sixth Street hotel for five-and-a-half years and personal memories that span the years since my landing in San Francisco. While there are very few archival photos of Sixth Street, my own photography adds a bit more to the record; and though my portrait of Sixth Street is largely an expression of love, it is also an act of defiance whereby I call down the despoilers of individual lives, and thumb my nose at the blindly onrushing forces of redevelopment and urban renewal, which have no use for history.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Sai.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Sai"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
In mid-February 2001, freshly discharged from the hospital, I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the hotel. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink attached to the wall opposite the bed. The only floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, the only place to stand was on the bed. By virtue of this arrangement, the walls were inaccessible and thus useless and blank. The sole electrical outlet was in an open utility box just above the sink, so it was not only useless, but also a hazard. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. The only other light source was a sixty watt light bulb, suspended from the ceiling by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated copper wire. The glare of the unshaded bulb was unbearable, so I turned it on only when absolutely necessary. Every aspect of the room was troublesome and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Invocation"''' <br />
<br />
'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
One month at the Sai was all I could take. A month-and-a-half and two hotels later, I settled at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of this image is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was ''shree ganeshaya namah''. Over time, the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until ''shree ganesh'' sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, I took comfort in knowing my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen, the god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Ganesha'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-View-from-My-Old-Room.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A view from my old room, #10.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:View-from-Room--10.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''Same room, different view.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Corner-of-My-Old-Room-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''A corner of my room: cramped, but comfortable.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
[[Image:Abracadabra-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"abracadabra"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
Reinventing myself meant, foremost, reactivating parts of my brain that had lain dormant for six years, and recovering my hand/eye coordination. To accomplish this, I used drawing, painting and calligraphy as my primary tools. Above is the first of my pen-and-ink drawings, dated July 2001, my third month at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. While hospitalized, I had rediscovered my love of language and symbolism when I read Umberto Eco’s ''Foucault’s Pendulum''; soon afterward, I started a journal and sketchbook. Once I’d established myself at the Shree Ganeshai, I began poring over alchemical treatises and ''ars combinatoria'' of the Middle Ages, wherein I found the inspiration for many of my drawings, including “abracadabra.” Below, dated November 2001, is the first of three watercolor decorated letters that paid homage to poets whose writings had inspired me in years gone by. Early in 2002, after acquiring a castoff plastic camera, I began photographing my surroundings.<br />
<br />
[[Image:IIlumination-1-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Alone" (Stanza from ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dawn---Rain's-End.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dawn &ndash; Rain's End"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As an insomniac, I’ve seen many beautiful sunrises. I captured this one while seated at my computer one spring morning after a night of heavy rain. On the left is a corner of the Hillsdale Hotel; the stacks are part of a PG & E power plant on Jessie Street. This particular view resonated very deeply with me, and the reasons for this are to be found in my childhood.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Gray-Day-3-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Gray Day #3"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
I grew up in a Midwestern city in the 1950s, before urban renewal, corporatism, and the “form follows function” aesthetic of corporate modernist architecture eviscerated much of this country’s soul. Grandpa “PR” Ellinger was a brakeman for the B & O Railroad, so some of my earliest memories are of freight trains being assembled in the yards by 0-8-0 switching engines, and of giant 4-8-2 locomotives waiting by the pit or in the roundhouse. Everywhere were the smells of coal smoke, oil, and hot metal, and the sounds of herculean iron machines at work: a crashing and hissing of superheated steam punctuated by whistle blasts that telegraphed the movements of the trains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Island-Out-of-Time.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Island Out of Time"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
My other grandfather, “Red” Tobin, was a chemist for the city water purification plant, built circa 1912. When I was a boy, the plant’s enormous machinery, valves, pipes, filtration pools, and conduits were still original, as were the many brass-handled controls and oversize gauges, and all were perfectly maintained and housed in cavernous structures of iron and brick. All of this filled me with wonder, and I idolized Grandpa Tobin, so at times when he had to check plant operations, I would beg him to take me along. Each time he would walk me throughout the enormous facility, patiently explaining everything in great detail. Most wondrous of all was the pump house, a brick building five stories high and three stories deep that had brass-railed ironwork galleries instead of floors, and walls that were lined with banks of indicator lights and old-fashioned recording gauges—all built around the colossal, steam-driven, Corliss flywheel pumps that fed the city’s water supply. Such are the archetypes that inform my world view.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Hillsdale.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Hillsdale"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
It should therefore come as no surprise that I find poignant beauty in buildings most people consider lowly, squalid eyesores. These old hotels have an archetypal quality that stirs my blood and attracts me like a magnet. So many people, so many stories, so much living has taken place within their walls. How can you not feel it? We are far too willing to dispose of anything that is old just because we are told that new things are somehow better. I would ask why we are being told this. Who benefits when we are divested of our history and culture?<br />
<br />
[[Image:My-Back-Yard-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"My Back Yard"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The closest building in this photo is the Lawrence Hotel, behind which is the Hotel Seneca, where windows to inner worlds glow as evening falls. The rear wall of Fascination can be seen peeking over the roof line of the Lawrence, just before it intersects with the edge of the Seneca. Between the Seneca and the McAllister Tower in the background is black-iron framework that once supported a water tank. Many of the older buildings in San Francisco have still-functioning rooftop water tanks, built in response to the 1906 conflagration that was catalyzed by earthquake-shattered water mains.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Dentils-of-Metal.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Dentils of Metal"''' <br />
<br />
'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br><br />
'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
The box-like components of a cornice are called dentils. While their size and details vary, they are always symmetrical and look like rows of evenly spaced teeth, whence their name was derived.<br />
<br />
[[Image:A-Lost-Art-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"A Lost Art"'''<br />
'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
Shown here is a small section of the cornice that crowns the Sunset Hotel. I like it for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simplicity of its design. I also like the very large dentils and the medallion that decorates the bracket at the end. Rust reveals metal beneath the illusion of carved stone. Simplicity and neglect combine to make this architectural detail a perfect symbol for all old residential hotels.<br />
<br />
[[Image:If-Walls-Could-Speak.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"If Walls Could Speak"''' <br />
<br />
'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth and Howard.'''<br />
<br />
The Hugo is Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant since a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make it appear animate, and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls; lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. The furniture is there to this day, still leaping and running about, and squirming through the windows.<br />
<br />
Untold thousands of photographs have been taken of the Hugo and its famous furniture, now a designated sightseeing stop, a housing crisis turned into public art. I took this photograph of what used to be the Hugo’s service alley because it shows the one wall of the hotel that has not been altered, save by the hand of Time.<br />
<br />
[[Image:Defenestration-.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Defenestration"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' has now endured for nearly thirteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings have disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel is universally appealing—everyone likes it—and I’ve become more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for over twenty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They didn’t want to maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.<br />
<br />
''&lowast;”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''<br />
<br />
[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]<br />
<br />
'''"Daybreak &ndash; Hugo Hotel"'''<br />
<br />
''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br><br />
<br />
As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. The old “South of the Slot” district is no more, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. Inasmuch as the Hugo Hotel has helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching modern urbanism and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest once the hotel is razed. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo has also served as a signpost; a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present that will soon be just a memory.<br />
<br />
[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)| Continue to Part Two]]<br />
<br />
<br />
[[Image:Tours-editor.gif|link=Playland]] [[Playland|Continue viewing the Editors' Favorite Pages]]<br />
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[[EARLY RESIDENTS|Prev. Document]] [[Sixth Street (Part Two)|Next Document]]<br />
<br />
[[category:Tenderloin]] [[category:SOMA]] [[category:Architecture]] [[category:Homeless]] [[category:Labor]] [[category:Gentrification]] [[category:Redevelopment]] [[category:Photography]] [[category:Public Art]] [[category:1900s]] [[category:1906]] [[category:1910s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:1950s]] [[category:1960s]] [[category:1990s]] [[category:2000s]]</div>Tobymarx