It is easier for me to write this weekly column, which I have been doing for 22 years, when I have personal experience with the subject. I made my first visit to San Francisco in July 1967, shortly after turning 19. Yes sports fans: during the Summer of Love, I stood on the corner of Haight and Ashbury Streets. I was positively enthralled with the “City by the Bay.” The beauty, the hills, the trolley cars – I loved it. Never seen a place like that before in my young life. Loved the switchback of Lombard Street.
I reckon my last visit was in 1980. Since then, the place has ‘gone to the dogs.’ Crime, homelessness, drugs – the trifecta of a crumbling society. Just last week, the San Francisco 49ers’ number one draft choice, former Gator wide receiver Ricky Pearsall, was shot during an attempted robbery as he walked by Union Station after signing autographs. He made the mistake of wearing his Rolex watch. The 17 year-old gunman wanted the valuable watch. Pearsall survived being shot in the chest; whether this severe wound ends his budding NFL career remains to be seen.