Something From Nothing

I was sitting in Union Square last weekend drinking coffee, reading a copy of the Street Sheet and thinking to myself, "oooh la-la," when I got an unexpected call from my Aunt, who with my Uncle was in town for the night to see Steely Dan. They were totally lost trying to find their way to their hotel off the square. "Hey, alright," I thought to myself as I headed off toward the Barbary Coast Trail (Maiden Lane) to connect with the 'F' streetcar on Market Street and meet them at the Ferry Building.

Street Sheet is sold for $1 as an alternative to panhandling

I'd given up trying to find more folks to talk to that could give some balance to this Tonga thing, especially since I wasn't really up for scaling Nob Hill and I'm quite frankly sick of tiki and rum. I'd decided that I was going to shift and take care of this crime story, but wandering around trying to think of ideas really wasn't doing me any good.

Mayor Gavin Newsom talks to reporters about, among other things, his Market Street plan

I'm such a lucky guy, though. One weekend I come across Barack Obama's motorcade and on another I'm stumbling upon this fella on Market Street talking about this completely preposterous (and decades-old) plan to close Market Street to all traffic, including eventually the 30 or 40-something MUNI lines that use it. The way he described this plan (including tables, chairs and benches in what was once the street) made it sound like this was one of those classic 2 a.m. rays of brilliance. I started to wonder if thoughtcrime was something I could hinge my next story on.

This detour, of course, made me late to meet my Aunt and Uncle but eventually I got there. It was okay that I was late because they went from the Golden Gate Bridge to the Ferry Building by way of Noe Valley and arrived 15 minutes after me. Over dinner, we talked about this reporting class I'm in, the story about Tonga and me trying to find street crime in Russian Hill.

The median home price in this section of Russian Hill is roughly $1.5 million.

I told my Aunt and Uncle about the mayor and how I took a bunch of pictures. My Uncle thought the Market Street plan sounded a little silly too. He told me about this (also decades-old) plan to close a huge section of my home town's main drag and "reunite the square," making a really nice promenade for pedestrians but I guess they can't get that passed because the city's transit operators won't have it–I think that city has something like 14 bus lines.

It was suggested that I just strong-arm someone then write about it, but for some reason that idea still isn't sitting right with me. What did more sensibly come up though were those "no valuables inside" signs everyone has on their cars in the neighborhood, especially in Russian Hill. It seems that such a well-to-do neighborhood would have equally well-to-do cars with all sorts of valuables inside to steal so it's a hot spot for vehicle break-ins, which is definitely a starting point.

After dinner, we parked and hiked back to their hotel, yadda-yadda-yadda, I taught them how to hail a cab, and they were off to the show.

So the evening was productive and ended up being a lot of fun. I put the profile to bed, thought for a few minutes about the crime story, pictured a Market Street that looked something like Van Gogh's "Café At Night" only with more tables and protesters, had a nice dinner that I wasn't expecting and even got a new pair of jeans and another coffee.

Good times.

China Basin's Secret Treasure

What I really found on my early-morning visit: some of the sights and scenes in the harbor don't make for a pretty story. Here's the nice part of my original write-up:

"An early-morning visit reveals the peculiar charm of the harbor’s hodgepodge of houseboats, which seem exempt from the building codes most people suffer. Twinkling lights on the surrounding waters lend an unreal sense of isolation to the place, and the gently rocking planks underfoot add to the feeling of fantasy. Alone in the crowd of rigid earthbound freeway overpasses and apartment buildings, the little harbor dwellings that drift with each wave give off a strange sense of permanence that the earthbound structures lack.


Little homey touches lend a sense of the past to the dock. Potted geraniums and barbecue pits are among the many signs of the channel’s lively population. Wind chimes and other ornaments sway and tinkle, catching the light and wind that change with each day. It’s no wonder the population of Mission Bay is on the rise. Channel resident Corinne Woods says most of the area’s 350 children are under the age of five; that’s why a neighborhood group (missionbayfamilies.org) is working on building a playground.

Residents of the houseboat community love their home in spite of the sewage-pumping station that still exists at the head of the channel. They formed the Mission Creek Harbor Association in 1974 in response to a Port official’s illegitimate attempt to evict the residents from their berths. With the help of the local media the residents preserved Mission Creek Harbor’s enduring independent spirit—the hidden jewel of China Basin."



And here's a retrospective thought or two:

Perhaps the spirit of independence thrives on the rich methane and sulphur fumes that drift and mingle on the surface of the water. The odd odor adds to the weird atmosphere of a place where even the laws of nature don't seem to apply... Old paddleboats and an occasional float from a marine parade rest in unoccupied berths.

A strange relationship rarely seen in nature grows between a carnival float and old tugboat

What's more, I found you have to be careful where you lock up your bike around the harbor. I got back to my bike "Mission Bay Visitor Center" just in time to save it from a private security guard who proceeded to give me the third degree, asking for my name and ID and telling me "This is private property," and other BS... It seems there's a lot of private security in China Basin since the police don't go there much. I was still glad I'd left the bike outside the locked dock area, though. Once you go past the gates and down the ramps to the docks, you're "not in Kansas anymore." City and district maps draw their borders at the edge of the waterline and it could be that maritime law applies once you're off dry land.

Treasure Island Meeting

Only a few concerned citizens attended the Sep 30 Police Commmision meeting on Treasure Island, where police commissioners and officers outnumbered the public in attendance. Captain Daniel McDonagh, Commanding Officer of the Southern station, presented his Chief's Report and the public was allowed to address the commission.

One of those citizens was Bayview resident Ruby Brown, whose grandson Jarvis L. Baker's 2000 murder still remains unsolved.

Another person remarked on the need for consensus regarding the confusing zoning of the police districts.
The department acknowledges the need for a better distribution of patrols in its District Boundaries Assessment found on the SFPD website. The shortcomings of the current districting system are clearly evident in the neglected China Basin area. Although China Basin is part of Supervisorial District 6, it is policed by District 10-area’s overworked Bayview Station police force. China Basin is one of the few parts of District 6 excluded from Southern Station’s patrol area.

China Basin resident Corinne Woods later confirmed the scarcity of SFPD patrols there, and said that residents’ safety sometimes depends on private security forces such as the guards at UC’s medical center.

As of today neither the minutes from the meeting nor the Chief’s Report were available online.

Everyone thinks murals are good

There was this dude painting a mural. I started asking him some questions and told him I was an SF State student. He said that some other SF State students had interviewed him and recorded him painting the other day. I wonder what their story was about. Either way I was trying to see if I could get some community members to give me their thoughts about the mural. Everyone that walked by would stop and examine the artist at work, tell him he's doing a good job, and keep walking. I stopped a MUNI driver walking by, asked him if he was into it, and he said, "It looks good," and it was awkward. I didn't really know what else to ask the guy. So after he left, I thought that the rest of the responses I would most likely get would be "It looks good," and "Yeah I think it's good for the community." It didn't seem likely that anybody would answer, "I think this mural sucks." So I stopped trying to get varying points of view about it.

There is one person (or maybe a few) though that paints over parts of the mural with white paint. This is the third time the muralist, Jason, has had to repaint the same section on the corner of Santa Rosa Avenue and Mission Street. The person hits the same place over and over and only paints over the Latino family in the mural.

I continued to interview the muralist and we heard this small bang like a car rear-ended someone. It was just the sound of a traffic cop's door slamming. A car behind him was trying to squeeze around. The traffic cop said, "Now watch this guy cut me off." So we watched.

Hunting down the Tamale Lady

(Photo: Chronicle/Liz Hafalia)

I first introduced myself to Virginia Ramos, a.k.a. the Tamale Lady, back in August when we were assigned Streetlist1. I knew then that she was the person I wanted to do my profile on.

Naturally, I hunted her down at Zeitgeist. It was warm Friday evening and the bike racks were full. I had to wait in a line just to get in. Once inside I spotted Virginia standing in the crowd.

Virginia was extremely nice and happy to divulge her telephone numbers and address; no email, however, as she does not have a computer.

I let her know my story was not due until later in the semester and that I would be in touch.

When it came time to interview Virginia, I had a hard time contacting her on the phone. My cell phone is restricted for some reason (this took months of non-returned phone calls for me to figure out) and I had a feeling this was why Virginia was not returning my calls.

I left several messages on both her home and cell numbers, but to no avail. I decided to change my subject last minute .

The day after our draft was due, Virginia called me back. She left a message saying she had been extremely busy, but that she would like to help me. When I called back, I left another message on her home answering machine. As I was about to hang up, I heard Virginia say, "Hello?"

She told me she does not answer restricted numbers, something about people relentlessly bugging her, so she waited until she heard my message before picking up. We made plans to meet later in the week at Zeitgeist, when it was convenient for me, as she did not want me to rearrange my work schedule for her.

Speaking with Virginia in person reminds me of my grandmother. She is welcoming and honest. She answered ever question I asked without the slightest hesitation. She also made me feel comfortable, referring to me as "baby."

It is not hard to see why everyone loves her. Not only are her tamales "fabulous", as Zeitgeist security Jerry Bricker put it, but she is extremely caring, passionate and funny.

The general attitude of most Zeitgeist employees is rude, loud and pushy. In a strange way, Virginia is reminiscent of a den mother, calm and sweet to soften the harsh edges.

Every Ordinary Person Has an Extra Ordinary Story to Tell

My subject for my profile story is Seiko Fujimoto who works in a store that sells traditional Japanese products. I will not lie if I found her almost accidentally. You probably heard her story in class last time and thought how fascinating her story was. And how lucky I was to be able to find a great subject. But really… the truth behind that is I never thought she had that story in her.

Everything about Fujimoto was ordinary except of her blue hair, of course. She was the first person that I talked to in Japantown when the semester started. She was outspoken although from the outside, she may not look like that.

I spent three full days following her literally everywhere. I went to a merchant meeting with her. I hang out at her store after her lunch until it was time for her to go home. She was a really interesting person, I will say. I admit I am guilty for forgetting my role as a student journalist. I was too absorbed in her story sometimes that I forgot to write down her story. A good thing, I brought my flip camera with me so I can record her story.

I am learning from my interviews with her. I learned about Japanese culture (I even had to go to a kabuki performance so I can understand her more). I learned to never think of someone as ordinary. I learned that every person has an interesting story within him/her. I enjoyed this learning process except of one thing: I learned to ask questions I dislike.

I knew it was hurt for her to remember the deaths and the war but what kind of story can I write if I did not know the whole story? I did not think I can do her story justice if I only understand her and her story partially. I had to constantly remind myself: “Ask her, ask her. You’re here to write her story.” It was really hard for me to ask those difficult questions like: “What do you think about Japan after the war?” or “Do you want to go back to Japan despite of all that painful memories?” I was afraid at one point she would break into tears but that never happened because she's a strong woman. I knew it's silly but the one who felt like crying was me. It was hard for me to stay objective too when she was so opened and kind to me.

All in all, I think she’s a unique lady. Fujimoto is a lady with attitudes. It is hard not to have sympathy for her at all because she is so brave, wise and strong. She is a person you can admire but not to hate.

D.I.Y. (dirtbag it yourself)

It has been a little while since I have wet my whistle at some of the bars in Noe Valley. I have been busy working on a story out in hunters point that has introduced me to some pretty...., hmm whats the right word.... something like the opposite of moms with strollers.
The article I am working on is about a competition where contestants have 30 days to build a custom motorcycle for less than $1000. It's called the DirtBag Challenge. I pitched the story to a local motorcycle magazine, and I am working Spencer Morris, a fellow SFSU journalism student, to profile some of the teams/builders in the competition. We thought that that would be a much better idea than just covering the event, plus somehow I got the "profile on a person" idea stuck in my head. Spencer and I did most of the research together and I shot portraits of each person we profiled. I have included one I liked but didn't use of Turk. This was a pretty rad project! The guys I met had a very fresh and inspirational take on life that I feel like I haven't been exposed to much lately. Well actually it was more like a 3 sheets to the wind attitude, but it really worked well, Especially for Turk. Now that guy was a character, as you can see from the photo. Turk never gave me a last name, but he said he got the nick name Turk because he "is the guy who can get you what you need, no matter what or how." Then there is Paul, or Poll which is his nickname because its how his name sounds when pronounced with his british accent. Poll is one of the founding guys for the dirtbag challenge and is seen below with the gasoline. Poll is a loud, crass, son-of-a-bitch, and I enjoyed every second of it. He is extermely charasmatic and though he started the dirtbag challenge with friends, it is pretty much his competition now, and he has done a great job of keeping it going for seven years now.

here is a link to the website, and look for the article and my photos in the upcoming Urban Moto and Xpress magazines. http://dirtbagchallenge.com/rules.htm

click on the photos to see them bigger

the map is of Poll's shop, Turk's is across the street.


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"Yo Momma!"

Finding a subject in Upper Haight for the PROFILE midterm assignment was simple. I've met many interesting people in the area, and usually meet at least one new person every time I take the 35-minute trip over there from my house.
Barnaby Williams was one of the first people I introduced myself to on Haight St. He is the owner of Mom's Body Shop at 1408 Haight St, where he is also a tattoo artist.
Barnaby was extremely welcoming when I first walked into the shop, and all nerves of mine went away as soon as we sat in the front of the shop and he began to tell me all about opening up the shop in 1991 and how he feels about running a business in the area.
As soon as I called to let him know I was interested in writing on specifically him for our midterm assignment, he wasn't hesitant at all.
One of the aspects of his personality that stuck out the most to me when I first met him was his persona of a self-proclaimed "momma's boy." It was crazy to see this heavyset man, covered in tattoos from ankle to neck and picture him as a sensitive momma's boy, since I usually associate that title with a vision completely different.
Through more interview he told me more about his relationship with his mother, how they both have an interest in art, his parent's divorce, and his growing up in Palo Alto but being a punk-rock troublemaker with tattoos in high school.
I kept asking more and more about his mom, and realized this story would be nothing if I didn't have some quotes from the main character in his life: Mom.
This was when I ran into a problem with this assignment. I hadn't even finished asking if I could possibly speak to his mother before he was shaking his head no.
"She doesn't speak to the press," he said.
In response to this, I assured him that I am a student journalist, and this is a class assignment. He was hesitant, but said he'd call his mom. I got to the tattoo shop for a final interview a few days ago, and he finally called his mom, who allowed me to have her phone number for contact.
She had such a sweet voice, complete with an adorable British accent. I got some great quotes from her, and loved how highly she spoke of her soon and his artistic talents.
Overall, I am looking quite forward to turning in this assignment.

Have any of you had a problem with possible sources not really wanting to talk to you because they "don't speak to the press?" How did you handle it? What was the outcome?


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A High-Potential market

A "High-Potential" Market


I've spent two Sundays at the Heart of the City Farmers Market.

The market has been at the United Nations Plaza for the past 26 years. According to San Francisco residents, the produce at this market is more cheap and fresh compared to the rest in the city.

From experience, I guarantee you'll leave the plaza with something more than fruit, vegetables, and popcorn. Last Sunday, a man played music in his guitar.

Yesterday, a man in lavender pants and a blue jacket performed songs from the 1960s rock band the Young Rascals in his keyboard.

Life would be ecstasy, you and me endlessly...
Groovin'... on a Sunday afternoon

The music was pleasing. But nothing beats the warm welcome that Adrian Alatorre gives to his clientele.

He actually learned how to say "hello" and "take it" in Hindi, French, Chinese, and Tagalog, a common language spoken in the Phillipines.

He said the Heart of the City Farmers Market is "high-potential" because the produce is cheaper and there is a greater diversity among people. A silver cash box is the notepad he looks at to recall one of his foreign greetings.

Most of the time, he walks to and fro behind his booth holding grapes as he shouts, "It's delicious, it's nutritous, you won't believe your mouth." Then he follows with my favorite, "Try before you buy, don't be shy." I couldn't stop laughing.

Alatorre is a personality you don't want to miss; His charisma is charming. Take a look at what he wrote on his sign.

Alatorre has been doing farmers markets for thirteen years. He's been at the Civic Center's market for three.

Don't forget next time you're at the Heart of the City Farmers Market to stop by Mora Farms' booth and "Have a taste to be amazed," as Alatorre would suggest.

Folsom St. Fair a Guaranteed Good Time

Today's unnecessary plug of the day is brought to you by Bear Party Magazine, because who doesn't like bears and who doesn't like parties?

I haven't been shooting for a while, and as a photographer that is a no no. To break the trend I decided to head to the Folsom St. Fair because I heard that there are a vast amount of picture opportunities. Now I have never technically been to the Folsom St. Fair but I have witnessed it one time early in my childhood. As a kid my family constantly visited my aunt in SF, and this trip my sister brought to bring her two best friends. They were probably in 8th grade, and to make a long story short my mom took a wrong turn and ended up on the street adjacent to Folsom. I still remember the reaction of the car when we witnessed two men dressed in leather start a full on make out session. Worst part...we were stuck at a red light.

I'm older now and I'm open to peoples sexuality. I entered the first barricade a sea of leather and flesh laid before me. The two main walkways were crowded with people in leather, leashes, and street cloths. It was a human gridlock. I tried to maneuver my way through the crowd I kept my eyes forward at the next intersection to change my camera lens. After the quick change I walked to a crowd of people dressed in street cloths who were watching a women being whipped. All the good spots were took up by other photographers so I turned around to walk out of the circle of people. As I turned around a I saw the most mind fucking thing ever. Just thinking about it makes it hard to write a grammatically correct sentence. A mental picture of this event will forever be ingrained in my head. I note this next sentence is not for the weak of heart..............

Standing right before me was a man standing in the power pose. No he didn't have a guitar in his hand. Instead he had his ramrod, and with his man meat in hand he played it like he was Ted Nugent. I turned looked to my right and there was a man with his iphone filming this act of chicken choking.

Although I was shaken by what I had just seen I soldiered it out and went on to take some pictures of the fair. Everything else I saw during my trip to the fair was tame. Except the sight of an older naked woman smoking a cigarette and sitting spread eagle. After a good two hours of walking In the Valley of Penises I got a couple of decent photos and a one mental image that will last me a lifetime.

How the West Lost its Harlem

Amidst the many resurfacing projects the Tenderloin and Fillmore districts have undergone a budding jazz culture once existed. Beginning in the 1930’s jazz clubs began growing both in their popularity and numbers with many popping up in the primarily poor Black neighborhoods of the Fillmore and Tenderloin Districts.

The forced change these neighborhoods have undergone ripped this budding cultural scene out by the roots leaving nearly no trace of the area previously known as “the Harlem of the West”. Amidst the growing culture of the area during the 1940’s there was a dramatic influx of Blacks into the neighborhood resulting in a ten-fold increase between the years of 1940 and 1950. During this time more than 2-dozen Jazz clubs could be found packed into Fillmore Street.

Though popular jazz clubs of the area included the New Orleans Swing Club, Bop City, Plantation Club, Jack’s Tavern of Sutter St, Havana Club, and the Booker T Washington Hotel perhaps none were more popular than the Tenderloin’s Black Hawk Night Club.

“I spent many happy hours there in 1960, listening to Miles, Cal Tjader, and others,” recalls Jon Foley writing in an online forum, ”I still have the smoke and dust in my lungs to prove it! But it was definitely worth it.”

In 1959 at the peak of this cultural wave the Black Hawk found itself able to pay $3,000 for their nightly jazz acts compared to the meager $300 they were able to offer the previous year. During its 14-year-reign as the place to be if you were a part of the scene live recordings were done by the greatest jazz musicians of the day including Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, Billie Holiday and Cal Tjader.

“We thought we'd died and gone to heaven in that dark, smoke-filled room.” Commented Lorraine Jones to an article written on the Black Hawk Night Club.

However, its popularity didn’t save it from the unanimous fate jazz clubs in the area suffered as it was forced to close in 1963, and the building was demolished in the 1980s. The lack of identity and culture in the area may have led to the degradation of the community that has left these neighborhoods where they are today.

Previously the location of the Black Hawk Jazz Club near the corner of Turk and Hyde Streets where there is now a parking lot.

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In an effort to bring back the life lost with the areas musical heritage, the San Francisco Jazz Heritage Center and the Tenderloin Community Benefit District are working to help San Franciscans rediscover the historical significance.

The TCBD is compiling a list of first hand accounts of memories from the Black Hawk to be compiled and published in a historical account of the famous club. They are asking for anyone with an applicable experience get in touch with them via their website. http://www.nom-tlcbd.org/

The Jazz Heritage center has compiled educational material on the areas history, hosts related art showings, plans events to raise public understanding and even has a jazz club called Yoshi’s in their building at the corner of the streets Fillmore and Eddy.

Yoshi's Jazz club- http://sf.yoshis.com/sf/jazzclub

Historic Event at the United Nations Plaza

Oct. 8, 2009.

Many visits to the Civic Center have caused me to develop an affinity for the United Nations Plaza. The affinity comes from the happiness, sadness, excitement, and frustration I've heard people express in their stories.

According to psychologists, people go insane to find the feeling of importance that has been denied to them in the harsh world of reality.

It's not only the homeless who refuge in the UN Plaza who are insane. Aren't we all hungry for appreciation and a feeling of importance?

I realized that criticism and judgement are our inevitable reactions to a person's feelings and world views. But understanding is more profitable and intriguing; especially in the world of journalism.

I'm grateful I've been able to chat with a diverse group of people at the plaza. It takes strong character- one I aspire- to put oneself in someone else's shoes with the intention to see the humanity, vulnerability, and fear that lives within all.

Because the event was taking place at the UN Plaza, I didn't hesitate to attend. I knew it would be worth it and intriguing.

*on a side note. sorry I didn't include pictures. my camera broke down*

I took the M to the Civic Center and set foot on the United Nations Plaza at 6:58 p.m. My black coat, pink mittens-yes, mittens, and scarf kept me warm. The night was cold and the sky was clear.

In the center of the United Nations Plaza, three rows of wooden chairs faced four microphones and two small speakers were placed on each side. The set-up was simple.

Across, the Civic Center Plaza was tented in plastic. A red carpet welcomed men in tuxedos and women in long dress-gowns. From the outside, I could hear a piano being accompanied by a cello and a violin.

A sudden boom had two police officers hastily walking toward City Hall on the corner of Larkin Street. I waited. Police Officer E. Linares said the disturbance was caused by a firecracker. I also learned from the officer that inside the plain white tents, the St. Anthony Foundation http://www.stanthonysf.org/home.html held an auction that would be followed by a fancy dinner to fundraise.

"She was only two months old and didn't even know her name,"

said Imam Suleiman Gali from the Islamic Society of San Francisco.

http://honorthedead.org/?page_id=2

Leaders from different faiths read eulogies for selected individuals who have died from malaria, tuberculosis, malnutrition, and AIDS around the world. A choir-composed of 13 adults- sang beautifully. The joyous singing symbolized a celebration for liberation. Liberation of the deceased from malnourishment, poverty, and violence.

Sister Chandru Desai from the Brahma Kumaris Meditation Center said, "We are souls, not only bodies." She invited the audience to join her chant. "Feel the air and the sky," she said. "Don't be shy, let us give their souls eternal peace."

I expected a big crowd, a sea of lighted candles, large speakers, and disturbances from the homeless who hang out at the plaza. A middle-aged homeless man approached the audience and yelled, "What the fuck is going on?" Then he approached me and whispered, "My step-father died from AIDS." He asked for a candle and after that, I lost sight of him.

Before I went down stairs to the station, I stood and stared at the plaza. It's amazing to think of everything that happens in that particular stop of my neighborhood.

Mondays, vendors offer souvenirs, hand-crafted jewelry, and everything from hats, bags, and sweaters with the words San Francisco embroidered, written, or glued.

Tuesdays, soup kitchens feed the homeless.

Wednesdays and Sundays, farmers from Fresno, Bakersfield and Modesto sell fruits, vegetables, nuts, and plants.

Unfortunately, drugs, crime, and violence don't respect the time of day or the day of the week.