When I was growing up, back in the late sixties, San Francisco was going through big changes. Now it seems we have come full circle and are facing the same issues all over again: Civil Rights for black people, social unrest, killings, protests, a pivotal election, death counts, and yes, even a global pandemic.
I don’t know if it was because I was a preteen, but in spite of the upheavals of the time, I felt happy and hopeful that we were heading in the right direction back then. I can’t say that now.
The Summer of Love, and the couple of years following, left colorful, tie-died snapshots forever in my mind. My Dad took me up to Haight Street for the first time in 7th grade, and I saw people adorned with beads and flowers, sitting on woven Indian blankets, flashing smiles and peace sign fingers. Plumes of incense filled the air with patchouli. I remember lime green and hot pink psychedelic posters reminding everyone to Make Love and Not War.
Some memories remain in dark, grainy, gray tones, like watching the flag-covered coffins come back from Vietnam on our little black and white television, and being sent to school wearing a black arm band to protest of the war. I remember when my mother woke me up to the news that Robert Kennedy had been shot, so soon after Martin Luther King, and I felt bad, because RFK wasn’t my favorite candidate. When I walked around the City, I was aware the Zodiac killer could be lurking somewhere.
In spite of the daily Vietnam death toll, and the assassinations, what I remember more was light and music. Black lights and strobe lights, concerts in Golden Gate Park, singing on the streets, bands in garages, playing vinyl LPs, music on the radio, and people twirling and dancing. By the time we got to Woodstock, as the song goes, everywhere was a song and celebration.
I was glued to the news, even as a kid, watching the Democratic National Convention, cheering for the progressive candidate McCarthy, and disappointed when Humphrey got the nomination, and even more let down when Nixon won. Funny, I don’t remember the news ever mentioning the pandemic we were having at the time. I think I vaguely remember hearing about the Hong Kong flu.
Today in San Francisco, although we have similar problems and narratives, the city has turned from rainbows of color to a drab gray. Opinions and party affiliations are black and white, instead of our TV’s. The only splashes of color are tents lining the trash filled sidewalks where the ever-growing homeless population reside. Businesses are shuttered. People are silenced from dissenting views and wear metaphorical masks to cover their faces and emotions, distancing themselves from one another, quaking in fear. The only light we’ve had came in the form of lightning, causing the state to burn. The air is not smoky from fragrant incense, but from charred redwoods. No music is playing, only the endless drone of the news cycle. I’m not sure what day the Music Died, or why, but the silence is deafening.
The never-ending refrain we hear now is to ‘Social Distance’ from one another. I believe this is causing more psychological, physical, and emotional destruction than we know, as well as dividing us further during an election year. Back in the sixties, with the same problems, the refrain, thanks to the Beatles, was “Come Together”. I think that message worked a lot better then, and I think it would work a lot better now.