Polk Street

I had seen my father a few times during this time when I when I lived in San Francisco.
He was suddenly forced by the courts to send me money and put me on his insurance
plan when he divorced my mother. I had never received anything from him since I had
left at 15 years old. He made it clear he was not happy about giving me any money and
resented me. Since he was legally bound by the system I was able to get some medical
treatment finally. I had been living in the woods with no electricity or running water
since I was 16 and had some strange medical issues. I got scurvy at 16 and suffered from
malnutrition on the commune. My teeth needed work and I found out from San
Francisco Junior College where I had been going, that I was not allowed to return until I
got an appointment to have my lungs checked. The health department had been
sending me letters that I never read and threw in the garbage.

One day I got a call from a woman wondering why I had never responded to her letters.
She sounded rather insistent but kind so I rebuffed her in a nice way. I told her I wasn’t
concerned or interested in what she was referring to.She finally got my attention when
she said fI had to go to an appointment or else not return to school. I was annoyed but I
went. Since I loved school.

I was appalled to find myself in a run down building in the middle of the Tenderloin.
This was the one area in San Francisco that I always avoided after a few scary
experiences. Outside the building were dirty, hunched over and obviously alcoholic
vagrants stumbling around the outside of the building. They smelled bad as I was
directed to the basement, which was looking worse and worse. I sat in a chair in the
dank dark room with the others who were falling around me. By the time the young
doctor showed up I was furious. “What am I doing here? This place is horrible. I wouldn’t
be here at all if my college didn’t force me. I am insulted and angry that I was sent here.
You must have made a mistake making me come here. What is going on?” the young
Asian doctor looked slightly weary yet somewhat amused and said; “Everyone here is

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sent by the Health Department if they have tuberculosis”. I was shocked to say the
least. I thought of all the victorian novels I had read and my mother’s nickname for me-
Camille.
“ You are not allowed to return to school until we assess the extent of your disease. The
health department sent you because you may be contagious.” I was instantly quiet and
he had my attention. Suddenly I realized I was on the same level as all the people
around me. I was just a younger version.I flashed back to my memory of the Movie “Ben
Hur” and the leper scene.

“We need to take x-rays of your lungs to see what your current status is. We rarely get
young people. Since you test positive you must never get another skin test. Only x-rays
from now on. You cannot reintroduce the TB strain to your body”. I was weak and
compliant at that point. I hunched in my chair and waited for what was next. After the
x-ray the doctor came in and said, “ you have extensive scarring on your lungs from
Tuberculosis. Because of your age you must have fought it off but that it could come
back later. If you ever get very run down you could get full blown TB. You are not
contagious at this stage and can go back to school”.

I seldom saw my mother after the age of 15. I saw her 2 or 3 times when she helped
me go to a doctor on her medical plan. I had to be very sick to ask since she did not
feel any responsibility for me. I never asked for money even though I lived in the
woods with noelectrricity or running water and had malnutrician. She resented me
and we did not have any love for each other. After years of her abusing me and
raising my youngest sister, taking care of her after her alcoholic rages and suicidal
bouts I was thrilled to be as far away as possible.

I mentioned having tuburculosois to her since she was a nurse. She looked bored
and said to keep an eye on it in the future and we never discussed it again. We were
done with each other by that point so I didn’t expect anything except some medical
information. She wasn’t even useful for that.

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My fathers came to visit me in San Francisco a couple of times at the age of 18. He
had never given me any money since I had left at the age 15. When he divorced my
mother the courts forced him to send me money and include me on his medical plan
till I was 21. He made it clear that he felt resentful about it. It was not something he
felt he was responsible for.

I showed him my studio apartment on Nob Hill while I still worked in the financial
district.. I took the cable car every morning to work and paid for everything by
myself of course. He was proud of me and later came back to take me out to dinner
for my 21rst birthday. During dinner I remember feeling a million years old and
rather sad. My father was being nice but I knew he didn’t feel any responsibility or
familial connection to me. I was lonely spending time with him. I loved him very
much but he wasn’t someone I could depend on for anything. It was understood that
he would never offer to be anything but a distant person in my life. It was a brutal
reminder that I had no family or adults to love me. There was no point in
complaining because the crumbs I got were all I could get and not to hope for more.

Somehow I got him to pay for one semester at the San Francisco Art Institute. I had
friends that went there and they convinced me that other parents did that for them.
I was raised to consider a college degree crucial to one’s existence but no one made
it a priority to help me. I got the semester and afterwards my father shamed me for
expecting anything more from him. I got my taste of art school now leave him alone
forever. He refused to pay anything after that and I never asked again except for a
$1000.00 loan ten years later which I paid back. And that was a traumatic event . I
have so much angst about asking f financial issues and independence. I don’t think I
have ever had a man support me financially in my life. I cannot bear the thought of
anyone saying no to me again.

and since I had no money I enjoyed the semester feeling as though I was a normal
person for a brief time. My classmates were all from privileged white upper class

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homes and could indulge themselves in something I hungered for. I didn’t resent
them and instead enjoyed feeling as though I was one of them for a brief time. I felt
that I deserved it and qualified to be there. For whatever time I had.

The day after I got fired I walked down from Nob Hill away from the financial district
and the brief life I had. I found myself on an busy unfamiliar street where the sign said
Polk Street. This meant nothing to me at the time.
It was a jungle and I was on the hunt for a job as I stopped to search any place that
looked like a possibility.

After wandering into a few places I noticed what seemed to be a unique environment.
The energy was franetic with an energy that was palpable and mysterious for me. It
seemed as though everyone was involved in something that I couldn’t identify and was
unfamiliar.

It was a busy mid afternoon during the workweek as I stepped into a sandwich shop to
find a table to sit down. I noticed people around me with a deliberate casual fashion
sense unlike the business attire in the Financial district where I had just been ousted. I
was fascinated seeing some of the most beautiful peopleI had ever seen. I rather liked
this new world and I applied for a job while enjoying the colorful mix of unfamiliar
surroundings.

I walked back up the hill to my studio apartment on Nob Hill. The patina of pastel
buildings on both sides of the California street reflected the sun and warmed me. I was
surrounded by architecture from decades before me. The air of tranquility and
established wealth created a completely different environment then I’d ever been in
before as embraced my new environment. There was an excitement that I was entering
a new chapter once again. I went home to my apartment studio and felt proud that I
was doing well in the world for an 18 year old.

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I was becoming accustomed to having my entire environment and surroundings
changing overnight which seemed to be a recurring theme in my life. One door closed
another opened. Meanwhile I had no friends in San Francisco yet and I was estranged
from my family as usual. I was feeling happy and lonely at the same time.
I was 18 years old and completely independent and self-supporting financially. I went
home and tidied up waiting to see what was next. It wasn’t long before the phone rang
and the restaurant where I had applied for a job called. The Haven on Polk Street hired
me and I was to report to work the next day. I was suddenly happy because now I had
somewhere to go everyday and money coming in. I was on to my way to my next
adventure. Little did I know that I had found myself in the center of another social
phenomena.

I arrived at 9 o’clock in the morning to begin training for my new job. A cheerful fellow a
few years older than myself showed me how to make sandwiches behind the glass
boundary where people would order. It was easy and I could turn my brain off while
enjoying the scenery. I started to notice that this wasn’t a clientele that I’d actually been
around before. I realized that everyone with the exception of a few stragglers here and
there we’re the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen in my life. Interspersed were
obviously gay men who socialized and seemed happy. Everyone just looked flawless as
if they had preened for long periods of time before arriving. My trainer and introduced
himself as “Thumper”.and smiled at my surprised reaction.

None of the clientele or co-workers paid much attention to me but thumper seemed to
be my new guide in this new world. Sometimes he would point somebody out and
explain what exactly he or she was “into”. Apparently many of the young men who
looked rather ordinary were street hustler prostitutes. The gorgeous women we’re
actually men and were there simply to be admired from what I could see. I was just is an
observer with no one to judge me and I felt strangely safe e in some way. None of the
men were interested in me sexually which felt like a vacation and everyone was kind. It

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was a hiatus for me to rest from myself.

Except for Thumper I was never invited into any social functions or deep conversations.
I loved watching the theatrical displays before me as I worked making sandwiches. I
didn’t have to use my brain or get in trouble for any social or intellectual politics, which
was a relief. I learned that when I got off work I could go to after hour dance venues that
had the best music and dancers I had ever seen. It was mainly gay men and no alcohol.
Just dancing and no possibility of being seduced by anyone. All the pent up energy
stored in my body from the past poured out as I moved to the best music of the time. I
found myself in an underground scene that was The Ziggy Stardust music by David
Bowie and other cutting edge music of the time. It was a celebratory social phenomena
another aspect of the sexual revolution and an another sexual revolution that was
glamorous, gay, androgynous, space age and happy. The gay scene in San Francisco
was just dancing and parties from what I could see. Irreverent towards the outside
world and another lifestyle different from the hippies that I had just left but rebellious in
a different way with some similarities. Either way I was a refugee from the white middle
class and enjoyed self-expression, music, dance and artistic displays of self-expression.
The hair and fashions had some cross-overs to the punk movement that came later to
San Francisco. Punk had not come over from England quite yet the angry punk scene
yet And