My journey for MEET1

View My trip for MEET1 in a larger map

Here's a map on my treacherous journey through Bayview for my MEET1 story. At the end of the map I talk about Archbishop Franzo king picking me up. Here's the story about that:

King asked me to get into his car, as walking through the projects this late could pose a problem to my livelihood. He remembered I was from SF State.

"Man, if State is rolling, then I know we're doing something! You can lock me up but we got cubs in the Bushes, to quote Marcus Garvey," King said.

Also while riding, he reminded me of the legality of all of this. He told me that he actually doesn't have a license and that he shouldn't be driving.

"But we're some triple OGs. I'm just letting you know while you roll with us."

I appreciated his cordiality. While driving he asked me how I felt about Obama. I told him that I voted for change and I'm still awaiting the results of that, his credit card policies excluded.

"That's what I'm saying," he said. "I knew I wasn't the only one through with change. You hear about a black man getting harassed outside his house and then invite the cops over for beers, and then have the nerve to call Kanye West a jackass? Please."

He was referring to the Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. who had a run in with the Massachusetts Police in July.

He dropped me off and told me to have a great day.

What a day that was.

I HAIGHT the rain, and I HAIGHT Comcast.

Photo Courtesy of: carynorsworthy.com

View Larger Map

The Internet was disconnected at my house. Scary sentence to read, I know. The stupid Comcast guy, let’s call him Idiot Bob, “accidentally” cut the “wrong internet wire.” This truly couldn’t have happened on a worse day. Not only did I have multiple online reading assignments due the next day, but I was also expecting e-mails from sources for my CRIME story, and a Comcast technician wasn’t going to be able to come to my house to reconnect the wires for two and a half days. Awesome.
What I thought was a disaster actually turned out to be a great experience for me.
I try my best to do as much research as possible out on “the field” instead of digging for clues on the Internet (any journalist would agree that the couch potato technique doesn’t provide nearly as many interesting experiences). Despite the heavy rain, I braved the 40-minute bus ride into the Haight district to search for sources for my CRIME story, which is about the recent ban on the opening of any more head shops in Haight for the next three years.
To my surprise, there were just as many people walking around in the pouring rain as I have usually seen on a nice clear day.
I guess the rain brought me some good luck, because most of the merchants I spoke with were more than happy to talk to me, one of them being Jim Siegel who has owned a smoke shop called Euphoria Distractions since 1976. After speaking with him for a bit, I soon learned that he was the merchant that went to District 5 Supervisor Ross Mirkarimi and asked for the ban to be introduced. I then learned that because of so many head shops already on Haight Street, Siegel’s business at Distractions has hit a low, and he will be going out of business within the next eight months. Ouch.
I learned of some of the shops that Siegel felt were unnecessary on the street, and also spoke to the owners of those shops as well, who, funny enough, also felt there were more smoke shops on the street than need be.
Conflicting ideas that are in agreement at the same time….interesting.
Either way, I finally got the Internet back up, and it was nice to be able to check my e-mails, so I could read ones from potential sources saying that they didn’t want to speak with me on the matter. Double awesome.

The French Do It Best

Alright, my initial profile story was supposed to be on Mrs. Dewson, who owns an extravagant hat store on Fillmore Street, but after waiting around for six hours for her to be my interviewee one Tuesday, with continuous hope from her assistant Myriette, she bailed. So I was forced to hit the ground running sniffing out some other potential story. It was then when I remembered a magical, petite French bakery on the corner of Fillmore and Bush streets called Patisserie Delanghe.

Patisserie Delanghe is owned by Dominique Delanghe and his wife, Marie-Jeanne, and the bakery has supplied residents the alluring confections for the past 23 years. There was something about the couple that was just as entrapping as the pastries and cakes that filled the counters. A “je ne sais quoi” quality. After sitting around in the bakery sipping on coffee and devouring a couple of their meticulous creations, I asked the couple a bunch of questions about their business.



Throughout the interview, it was really interesting because during the bombardment of questions, I couldn’t help but feel that they seemed a bit disengaged with my cause. Soon enough, I came to the realization that the couple was just a bit more indifferent with me because they were private people who didn’t feel that their stories were very newsworthy. They were both immigrants from the Loire Valley in central France and have been married for 35 years and want nothing more than a simple life together. The Delanghes had a humble country demeanor that infected me almost instantaneously.

Furthermore, the pastries were fatally scrumptious. One could tell that Delanghe was no amateur at his craft but a master of his trade. And he was happy to be doing it, which was refreshing to see because after being turned down at least twice by Mrs. Dewson and by at least two other potential subjects, my confidence hit record low.

I remember thinking before I got to this interview at the Patisserie Delanghe that, at least where I was in Lower Pacific Heights, everybody wants to do something in the world but nobody wants to talk about it. Is that just me running into this problem or are you guys getting shut out too? I had felt so defeated and worn, even the Catholic church that I used to attend didn’t want to give me something to work with. Thank God the pieces came together in the end though. And I feel lucky to have been able to count on the Delanghes for being the subjects of my profile story because I was so lost. Or as you say in French, “je suis perdu.”








View Larger Map

(image from Allison J.)

One Dollar Thefts

Oct. 29, 2009

In my search for crime, I decided to walk into the Dollar Market on Market Street. The small but assorted convenient store is a family owned business that opened this July.

The store’s manager, Jawad Al, has lived in Sunnyvale since he left Afghanistan in 1995. I met him in September when we were assigned STREETLIST.

The store had only been open for two months and Al was already telling me about the numerous thefts that occurred every week.

Al told me he found seven items in a woman’s bag one day, which prompted him to introduce a rule. The rule asks customers to exchange their handbags and backpacks for a black shopping bag before they enter the store.

Wednesday evening, I spoke with Betslot, an employee at the Dollar Market since it opened, and learned about two thefts that had happened the day before over a one-hour period.

“I think prisons are full and that’s why the police don’t take the thieves,” Betslot said about people who steal merchandise at least once a week. The thieves are usually homeless men and women who want to earn some extra cash, said SFPD Officer P. Ruetti.

According to Betslot, a woman accompanied by a man stole a roll of tape Tuesday at 2 p.m. Betslot said the woman hid the tape under her armpit and ran out. “I saw her take it,” she said.

The security guard chased, caught, and searched the woman but the item was not found in her possession. Betslot thinks the woman handed the tape to someone outside of the store.

The police wasn’t called. Betslot said, “The person is only banned from our store.”

An hour later, another woman was caught trying to steal three pencil eyeliners and sunglasses. “We called the police and he wrote a report,” Betslot said.

Ode to the Homeless

The Tenderloin can be such a depressing place sometimes. Throughout the streets I see the saddened eyes of lost loves, lost houses, lost family, lost jobs, lost dignity, lost inspiration. People who are at there wits end, just waiting and hoping for their next meal, their next crack rock, their next drink. On every block of every street there's an army of panhandlers that would bankrupt me in ten minutes were I to give every person what they asked. 

 

I tried to be superman when I first moved to the city, giving money to most of all whom asked, helped out old ladies being harassed on the bus, listened to every drug-induced homeless man who just wanted someone to listen to them. It was fascinating to me at first; when I was just a tourist watching the chaos that is San Francisco. 

 

The people I see in the Tenderloin were at first a statistic of homelessness and drug addiction; just nameless ghosts roaming the streets, having no purpose or cause. They were all categorized in my mind as a lump of people down-and-out because they made bad choices throughout life and ended up on the streets. There was no attachment to these people; no real empathy.

But after spending numerous hours not just in the city, but the Tenderloin specifically, that's changed. The novelty of city life has worn off and been replaced with dystopian shock. These people are really suffering as individuals. Each face I see is an individual who lost control of there life and succumbed to life on the streets. And even more, I see the same people over and over and witness their suffering on an ongoing basis. I personally know a handful of them and have heard their stories from beginning to end on how they got to where they are. 

 

One woman has sat in front of my work everyday for the past year trying to peddle her "Street Sheets" for a dollar each. At first I was surprised she was selling Street Sheets; she looked so well put together. She had nice, clean clothes, looked healthy, pretty, and even kind of wholesome. She looked like she should be at home making her kids some after-school sandwiches. 

 

Over the past year she has gone from an average looking woman to a decrepit and withered human skeleton. I'm not exactly sure what she's been up to, but I've seen the deteriorating results on a weekly basis. She is noticeably less healthy everytime I see her. It's one of the sadist things I've ever seen.

But I did witness a ray of happiness in the TL today while photographing a mural painting being installed on Market Street. During the three hours I was photographing the half completed Mural the response of the community was quite uplifting. Numerous people from all walks of life actually stopped and told the artist how glad they were to have such a beautiful piece of art (which is a 100-foot wall) in their neighborhood.

People were pointing, smiling and complementing the piece the whole time. Families would stop to look at the vibrant colors radiated from the mural; businessmen would stop to take a picture with their iphones; some homeless people were congregating together, 40's in hand, and sporadically interjecting affirmations to the artist about how great their neighborhood is going to look now. The art seemed to bring the community together, coalescing them through vibrant colors and creativity.

Of course having a few pieces of art in an otherwise dreary stretch of Market Street isn't going to cure problems of social inequality or give a homeless man a job, but it has certainly elevated the residents state of mind and pride in their community.

Brenda Meets the Tenderloin

Oct. 28, 2009

Yesterday was my first time walking through the Tenderloin. The Tenderloin Elementary School stood on Turk Street only a few businesses away from a childcare center.

Hispanic mothers and their children shared the sidewalks with men and women who yelled hysterically and flipped each other out. According to data, the Tenderloin has the largest population of children and by 2008, it counted with more than sixty liquor stores.

Neither the women’s nor the children’s eyes expressed fear. Their familiarity to the environment made me angry and sad. I could see my mother through the woman who crossed the street with a baby in a stroller. I could see my 5-year-old self through the little girl who held on tightly to her mother’s arm and wore a pink dress with a jean jacket.

On my way to the Tenderloin Police Station, I met Police Officer Yee who was parked on Market Street. I waved at him and he rolled his window down. He asked if I had a question or if I needed help.

“Hello, my name is Brenda Reyes and I’m a student at San Francisco State. I have a few questions regarding crime in the neighborhood,” I told him.

“Oh,” he said. “I can’t help you at the moment because I’m patrolling the buses, you know, making sure people don’t cause disturbances.” So he directed me to my original destination. “Be careful,” he cautioned. ”The station is not located in the best of areas.”

I smiled and thanked him, trying to hide the fear he had engrained in my mind. I took Leavenworth Street and turned right on Eddy Street. Three officers held riffles in their hands as they walked in and out of the station.

I walked in to the station intimidated. I walked out frustrated. All I could get was a phone number. With one bar left in my phone I decided to go home.

At the Civic Center Muni Station I spoke with officer P. Ruetti who’s been a San Francisco police officer for two years and part of the “Market Street Foot Beat” for the last two months.

Ruetti told me about thefts, which are common to businesses in the Civic Center, and narcotics, which constitutes a daily battle in both the United Nations and Civic Center Plazas.

Ruetti said the District Attorney won’t prosecute petty crimes because “It’s a waste of time and money to prosecute people who steal from $1 stores.”

A theft in items worth $400 and more is a felony, whereas one under $400 is a misdemeanor, I learned. According to Ruetti, the District Attorney doesn’t care about most marijuana cases when there are bigger crimes involving narcotics.

I arrived home on an empty stomach, with a dead cell-phone, and without a case number.

I still didn’t know what my crime story was going to be. But, I had a potential topic for the final assignment:

The Civic Center Park, children, drugs, and City Hall.

Hmmm…

The Tel-Hi's and lows of a student journalist

I stumbled upon my midterm subject while looking for a meeting in North Beach. I read online that a group called the Friends of Tel-Hi would be holding a meeting at the Telegraph Hill Neighborhood Center on a Tuesday night in early October and decided to check it out. I was worried I’d be late and began preparing for the embarrassment that generally comes from sauntering into meetings 10 minutes late… To my surprise (and great relief), I was actually early- 24 hours early.

A member of the center's staff introduced me to Tel-Hi's director, Tim Daniels, who explained that the meeting was actually the next day but had been pushed back a week. Apparently the Friends decided to postpone and take a well-deserved break after the success of their first fundraiser, Breakfast for Books. After chatting briefly with Daniels about the center's stance on the controversy surrounding the possible renovation of the North Beach library (Tel-Hi's chosen to remain neutral so as not to alienate donors but keeps its doors open to community groups on both sides of the issue that wish to hold their meetings at the center), it occurred to me that Tel-Hi might make an interesting profile subject.

I googled the center when I got home and learned that it was founded by Grace Cathedral Sunday school teachers Elizabeth Ashe and Alice Griffith in 1890 and was one of the first settlement homes on the west coast. More than 100 years later, Tel-Hi continues reaching out to the community through its preschool, K-5 after school academy, summer camp, teen leadership, and senior programs, as well as a partnership with North Beach Place. Each day, Tel-Hi serves approximately 600 members of the North Beach and China Town communities ranging from age two-and-a-half to 102 (and "everyone in between," according to Daniels).

I spent the weeks that followed milling around Tel-Hi in my spare time, trying to observe as much as I could. Two of my more memorable visits involved sitting in on meetings of the North Beach Neighbors and the Friends of Tel-Hi, neither of which involved any direct contact with Daniels- yet the day I stopped by to find out if I might be able to ask him some questions, or if he'd prefer to be interviewed via e-mail, he commented on my persistence and jokingly referred to me as being "like a fungus."

Needless to say, I wasn't particularly amused, especially since he went on to suggest numerous times that I volunteer at the center/write for their newsletter. I get that he thought he was being funny, but I didn't enjoy feeling like my attempt to bring attention to such an interesting facet of the community was a bother. It didn't help that he seemed semi-suspicious of my motives every time he asked what this was for/what my angle was. I suffered further disappointment when I learned that in order to speak to the children who participate in Tel-Hi's programs, I'd have to secure a release and be supervised by a third party. I got the impression Daniels wasn't too keen to go through this particular process for the purpose of my midterm.

In spite of the aforementioned setbacks, I was ultimately happy with the interviews I got. My story didn't turn out the way I expected it to, but I still feel like I managed to shine a light on a deserving organization.