Bill Yenne's photographic essay about the similarities and differences between San Francisco's past and present is one of several "past and present" photographic themes published by Thunder Bay Press involving a number of prominent American cities.But a pictorial retrospective and current-day snapshot (this book was actually published in 1998) of The City is particularly interesting, not only in light of San Francisco's unique history in the annals of this country, but also in light of how San Franciscans today see themselves in relation to the rest of the country.
I would have liked to have seen included a picture of old Seals Stadium, which adorned the corners of 16th and Bryant Streets in Portrero Hill for so many years as home to the San Francisco Seals of the Pacific Coast League (and as home to the Giants in 1958 and 1959). But a "now" picture of the Safeway Shopping Center and Old Navy outlet that are on that corner now might have appeared too drab or too forlorn by comparison.
Otherwise, Yenne's color photographs of the present are quite beautiful, but equally impressive are the black-and-white photographs of the past taken by largely unknown photographers. A remarkable amount of detail is preserved in those old grainy-black-and-whites.
Yenne gives us a few briefly-worded captions for the purpose of pointing out some specific similarity or difference between two or more photos in a given set, but as a good human camera should, he wisely refrains from any further comment.
Included in this essay is an "old" view (circa 1935) looking east from the top of Nob Hill between Sacramento and California Streets. The Russ Building, San Francisco's tallest skyscraper (31 stories or about 400 feet high) is visible in this shot, but also clearly visible is the San Francisco Bay, including the suspension cables on the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, now in the middle of construction.
When Yenne shoots his contemporary photo from the same angle, the Russ Building is now dwarfed by a number of newer structures, including the 853-foot Transamerica Pyramid and the 779-foot black granite Bank of America headquarters, and the bay is hardly visible at all. Other skyscrapers have joined the collage, and now, incredibly enough, no portion of the Bay Bridge can be seen.
Moreover, in other old pictures facing the same direction, the waterfront is, as Yenne says, "alive with tugs, ferries, and other vessels". But in contemporary photos, "the waterfront (is) now much quieter".
There are still, thank heavens, some fishing boats in Fisherman's Wharf in which commercial fisherman seek their catch with the same dogged patience that the DiMaggio family did almost 100 years ago. Moreover, Alioto's, Fisherman's Grotto, and Tarantino's restaurants adjoin the wharf in both the black-and-white "then" and the color "now" photos. But otherwise, the tugs, ferries and other vessels, sailing toward or away from the various piers have been largely replaced by pleasure craft. Gentrification anyone?
The photos also tell a story of the disappearance of most of the cable car traffic that once traversed the City, and of course, everyone knows that the remaining cable car lines are kept only for the benefit of the tourists. The City's haughtiness towards outsiders doesn't entail an aversion toward tourist dollars, after all.
But no self-respecting chablis-drinking San Franciscan would be caught dead in one of those contraptions today. The late Herb Caen or whoever has since replaced Caen as the dean of Bay Area boorishness would laugh out of town any San Francisco native uncool enough to ride one of those things.
It's hard to imagine San Francisco's "in" crowd today enjoying anything as bourgeois and middle-American as an amusement park either, but Yenne is able to locate some old photos of a Coney Island-like amusement park called Playland-At-The-Beach that once adorned Fulton and Balboa Streets during a less pretentious San Francisco era.
Maybe time, population growth, economic growth, and recovery from two major earthquakes made some change inevitable. But the old and new photographs largely tell a story of a city striving maniacally to grow faster than anyone else, often at the expense of much of the beauty and charm that it once possessed. A city whose denizens claim to be unlike anywhere else ultimately aped New York City and other metropolitan areas in the frenzy of its development and in much of its resulting physical appearance. Does San Francisco's arrogant provincialism mask a latent inferiority complex?
Maybe the most illustrative set of "then and now" photos are the two views looking west from California and Kearney Streets. In 1880, next to Old St. Mary's Cathedral on the north side of the street is a combination apartment complex/restaurant called the California House, and Yenne explains that it was one of the City's favorite eateries, noted for "fresh oysters in every style".
Old St. Mary's still rests on the north side of California Street in Yenne's contemporary color photograph, but upon the site of the California House now rests the 33-story Hartford Insurance Building.
St. Francis wept.
