On this date sixty-one years ago, June 27, 1963, I arrived in San Francisco. I had left my native San Diego, thinking to never return (except perhaps for visits). We drove all night, my friend Leroy Culver (whose car it was), Pat(ricia) Maddock, a young woman whose name I don't remember((I'll call her "Suzanne") but who worked after school at the San Diego Public Library, "Emil," a friend of my friend Dan, Pat Rusconi, who rested her head on my sweatshirted shoulder most of the night, and myself. All except Emil, who was from DEEtroit, had been students together at SDCC (San Diego City College, the old, downtown campus).
We arrived at about 6 am, and went to the top of Telegraph Hill to have a look. To me, what we saw was astoundingly beautiful. I was totally blown away on that sunny, cold morning,, as I looked at the piers on the Embarcadero, Alcatraz, Angel Island, and all the rest of it. I remember saying to myself, "I'm never going back." And so it was, for a while. But life has a way of changing any plans that you make.
Copyright © 2024 by Donald C. Traxler.
