Growing Up in San Francisco

by Frank Dunnigan

  MERCY GRAD, 1974

  Yes—Sue Mills—it was more of a warehouse than a store, not nearly as nice as what my brother found at Bruce Bary in Stonestown. In 1970, we also had a uniform sale day at Mercy. Even though my mother had already taken me downtown for essentials, I recall buying another sweater that day. The sweaters were color/style-coded: cranberry cardigan for frosh, cranberry V-neck for sophomores, blue cardigan for juniors and blue V-neck for the seniors. We also had a uniform bolero jacket in cranberry, but it was not mandatory. Also at Mercy, we were one of the first classes who wore knee-high stockings and loafers instead of the old saddle shoes. MOST girls rolled their skirts after school—how else were we going to get SI [St. Ignatius] boys to take us to a dance or game? When I was shopping at Stonestown earlier this year, I noticed that the girls are still following this same proud tradition as they leave the campus—sometimes I forgot to unroll mine before my dad came home, and he was NOT amused! [Author’s note: One day, while driving along 19th Avenue, circa 1989, with my own mother and her sister—then both in their seventies—in the car, we saw several Mercy students rolling up their skirts before crossing 19th Avenue to Stonestown. My aunt commented that she and Mom used to do the very same thing when leaving school at St. Peter’s Academy in the Mission District in the 1930s, before walking home along 24th Street—some things never change!]

  STAR OF THE SEA GRAD, 1972

  I don’t have many memories of purchasing uniforms, but I do remember that I loved my uniform—it gave me a sense of community and belonging. I think it was a San Francisco thing, as I always enjoyed seeing other uniforms and making the neighborhood connections. In high school, because we were aware of fashion trends, I remember how important hair accessories and purses became—since that was the only form of expression we had. I paid a lot of attention to both, making sure that they made a statement.

  ST. ROSE GRAD, 1966

  We had brown herringbone skirts and jackets from City of Paris, and we had to buy two skirts, because at some time in the past, St. Rose students were invited to welcome General Eisenhower at the airport. Some moms had washed their daughters’ wool skirts, and they shrank. Short skirts—scandalous! So after that, there was a two-skirt minimum. I loved the freedom of a uniform—no decisions to be made in the morning, and our non-uniform clothes remained nice because we had the uniform for everyday use. When I hit college, it was a pain to have to think about what to wear first thing each day.

  St. Rose Academy operated on Pine Street from 1905 to 1990, the last link to an old South-of-Market parish founded in the 1870s. The school survived the 1906 earthquake and was out of danger from the subsequent fires. However, it suffered severe damage from the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989 and was closed down in 1990, with the building later demolished. Though gone for more than twenty-five years, the school still has an active alumnae association. Artwork by Joyce Dowling, Marci Hooper Collection.

  CONVENT OF THE SACRED HEART GRAD, 1971

  I liked uniforms because they were the great equalizer—no matter what you had at home, we were all the same in the classroom. It was also a good feeling to know that I could get ready every morning in far less time than my public school friends, because my wardrobe choices were predetermined. We had a herringbone blue skirt with a single inverted pleat in the front, along with a vest-like top and a white blouse and black loafers. There was also the “dress uniform” that consisted of a white jacket and skirt with a white blouse trimmed in red plus a red tie. These were worn for First Friday Mass plus assemblies.

  PRESENTATION GRAD, 1970

  Our uniforms were pleated plaid skirts, white blouses and navy blue sweaters, plus navy-blue-on-white saddle shoes with white ankle socks. It was easy to spot our schoolmates on MUNI, which helped us to get to know others before and after school hours. “Free dress” days were tricky—old play clothes vs. dress-up.

  For guys attending St. Ignatius, Sacred Heart or Riordan, there were no uniform requirements, though there was a basic pattern of gray/dark green/khaki pants, button-down collar shirts (with enough starch to give them a brick-like firmness—the choice of students and never a school requirement) and V-neck wool sweaters. Some sartorial splendor crept in from time to time in the 1960s: Madras shirts, knit snow caps and mufflers during cold weather, Derby brand jackets, always yellow, tan or navy blue—no parent would allow their son to wear a black one because that hinted at gang activity.

  For boys just entering high school, it was a given that the late summer shopping trip to Bruce Bary would be conducted under the close scrutiny of one’s own mother. Being seen in public with either parent was an ordinary embarrassment for most fourteen-year-olds, but the situation became immeasurably worse when trying on pants. Many mothers seemed to have a rather obsessive need to put their hands into the waistband and tug at it in order to determine whether or not there was a proper fit. The usual teenage male retaliation for this embarrassing maternal behavior was to chat up every schoolmate who happened to be in the store at the time—even those you weren’t particularly friendly with—about any and all topics until every mother involved was fed up with the delay and resolved that her son was old enough to shop on his own from that point on.

  Just as girls expressed individuality with purses, guys often did so with footwear. At St. Ignatius in the 1960s and early 1970s, the rule was simple—no athletic or other “non-polishable” shoes. There were some school years when black wingtips were popular, and by the following September, everyone was wearing burgundy penny loafers, while in 1968, the trend was heavily in favor of brown-on-brown saddle shoes. What everyone at SI wanted to wear were Clark’s desert boots, made with a soft, unfinished tan leather and a thick crepe sole—very comfortable. They were forbidden, however, because they were non-polishable. Miraculously, in 1969, the Clark’s Boot Company produced a yellow-tan polished version with a side buckle, and these became an instant hit on 37th Avenue.

  In 1965, St. Ignatius made plans to depart its decades-old home on Stanyan Street for an expanded campus in the Sunset District. Pictured here is the kickoff publicity photo of the fundraising drive; the “new school” opened in 1969. Courtesy of St. Ignatius College Preparatory.

  Similar to Mercy’s sweaters, SI also had distinctive school jackets, with the colors red and blue alternating for each class. The class of 1969 was blue, and the class of 1970 was red. I remember once asking an elderly Jesuit why the colors alternated from one year to the next, and without batting an eye, he replied, “Makes it easier for the police and witnesses to narrow down the guilty ones in a lineup.”

  SI’s dress code became far more specific following the school’s transition to coeducation—something that occurred a full twenty-five years ago. Today, all students must wear knit polo shirts or button-down collar shirts. Sweaters or jackets may be worn, as long as the shirt collar remains visible. Pants must still not be denim, but to-the-knee shorts are now permitted on both male and female students, and girls have the added option of wearing a knee-length skirt if they wish. The old rule about “non-polishable” shoes is gone, replaced with a simple “shoes must be worn at all times.” One new rule, in keeping with the times, is “No visible tattoos.”

  St. Ignatius, founded in 1855, relocated to its sixth site, in the middle of the Sunset District, in 1969 and has since expanded considerably. The school, fully coeducational for more than twenty-five years, has nearly twenty thousand graduates. Courtesy of St. Ignatius College Preparatory.

  Both guys and girls have always had some latitude in hairstyles—though never enough. While girls’ schools did not tolerate students dyeing their hair in the 1960s, it was a rare girl, having light brown hair, who did not help Mother Nature just a bit with the occasional bucket of lemon juice, peroxide or Clorox—even though the nuns were constantly on the lookout for anyone who suddenly became “too blonde.”

  In SI’s Stanyan Street days, hair had to be “short, neat and conservative,” even though those terms were defined o
nly in the mind of the Jesuit beholder, with students subject to frequent impromptu personal reminders about the need for a haircut, shave or shorter sideburns, often in the hallways between classes. SI’s hair rules today remain generalized (though with prohibitions against “extreme” or “distracting” styles or colors) along with the summary, “Hair must be clean, combed, and neatly styled. Inappropriate hair styles will be left to the discretion of the Deans.” Lime-green spiked Mohawks are still out, I guess.

  One Facebook user recently posted his own recollections about a 1957 grooming crisis at Lincoln High School that came about because of Yul Brynner’s role in the movie The King and I, noting that Herb Caen had mentioned it in his column:

  Jeff Amos of 2222 48th Avenue, a low-junior student at Lincoln High, marched into Paul’s Barber Shop at 46th & Taraval Wednesday and ordered: “A Yul Brynner, please!” He got it. Paul clipped all his hair off and then shaved the top. “Ahhhh,” said Jeff, a red-hot Brynner fan, as he surveyed himself in the mirror. But the next morning—“Ughhhh,” said Dr. J.B. Hill, principal of Lincoln High. He promptly ordered Jeff to stay out of school until his hair grows back, because he’s afraid the idea might become contagious. “But I have a math test tomorrow,” wailed Jeff. “You can come in for that,” decided Dr. Hill, “but you’ll have to wear a hat.”

  Oh, right—a hat is going to be really inconspicuous! It’s amazing how something like hair has been a cause of so many adolescent as well as adult crises over the decades. Trust me, it will change color on its own over the course of time—and then just fall out.

  I wonder if retirement homes will have dress codes when we get there?

  School Safety Patrols of traffic girls/boys from both public and private schools gather at the polo field in Golden Gate Park for their 45th Annual Review, accompanied by school bands, in 1968. Courtesy of Western Neighborhoods Project.

  Among San Francisco’s public high schools, Abraham Lincoln, a California Distinguished School, is one of the most competitive for admissions in recent years. Photograph by Woody LaBounty.

  7

  THE GRAND ERA OF PHILANTHROPY

  Much is written today about the perceived evils of capitalism and the extreme wealth of the rich and famous. San Franciscans, perhaps, are able to demonstrate a certain level of tolerance for such matters because of a long history of local philanthropy from institutions such as the Chinese Six Companies, Jewish Family and Children’s Services, Catholic Charities, American Red Cross, United Way, Salvation Army and many other organizations that have been funded by both large and small donations alike.

  In addition to organized charities, some very wealthy individuals have plunged billions of their own dollars into the San Francisco community, sometimes in magnificent ways, and often right here in our very own Western Neighborhoods.

  Author’s note: This listing most certainly does NOT purport to be all-inclusive of the many generous donors to worthy causes. In fact, most organizations will confirm that their all-time most generous gifts have often come from those known only as “Anonymous.” The following is but a snapshot of the positive impact that some generous contributors have made on the daily lives of all San Franciscans.

  ANDREW CARNEGIE

  Born in Scotland in 1835, Andrew Carnegie moved with his family to Alleghany, New York, when he was thirteen years old. In a classic rags-to-riches story, he rose from a telegraph and messenger boy earning $2.50 a week in Pennsylvania to this country’s preeminent steel and railroad magnate. In the final twenty years of his life, he became a philanthropist, giving away more than $350 million (nearly $5 billion in today’s money) for the establishment of free libraries throughout the United States that were open to all. San Francisco’s current Sunset and Richmond branches of the San Francisco Public Library are just 2 of the 144 California libraries established with Carnegie funds—some others include the old San Francisco Main, Chinatown, Golden Gate Valley, Mission, Noe Valley and Presidio branches.

  Built with a donation from the Carnegie estate, the library at 18th Avenue and Irving Street has served the community since 1918, when it became the eighth branch in the system. It has recently undergone a detailed renovation. Photograph by Alvis Hendley.

  MICHAEL DE YOUNG

  Born in St. Louis in 1849, Michael de Young moved with his family to San Francisco as a young child. Along with his brother Charles (1845–1880), he founded a newspaper in 1865 that became the San Francisco Chronicle. Having helped to assemble a gem collection for the Midwinter Exposition of 1894 in Golden Gate Park, he also donated pieces from his own art collection to San Francisco’s first public museum, which was named in his honor. De Young ensured that the museum retained free admission throughout his lifetime and for many years after.

  HERBERT AND MORTIMER FLEISHHACKER

  The Fleishhacker brothers, born in San Francisco, were involved in banking as well as investing in early hydroelectric power plants that were eventually acquired by PG&E. Herbert, a parks department commissioner, spearheaded the drive for a public swimming pool, contributing much of the $1.5 million cost from his own pocket. Filled with six million gallons of heated ocean water and with enough room for ten thousand people, the incredible pool—150 feet wide by 1,000 feet long—required that lifeguards use rowboats. Opening in 1925, it was packed with fun-seekers for decades—at an admission price of just $0.10. Sadly, the pool was closed in 1971 and has been replaced with a parking lot. The old bathhouse remained vacant for decades but burned to the ground in December 2012 and was subsequently demolished, except for the ornate entryway, which will be preserved as a memorial. Herbert contributed heavily to the establishment of the adjacent zoo, named in his honor for decades, and he and his brother Mortimer also donated a personal $50,000 for construction of the Mother’s Building at the zoo, in honor of their own mother, Delia Fleishhacker. The zoo remained a free attraction until 1970. Mortimer spent thirty years as a regent of the University of California and was also an active benefactor of the San Francisco Opera, the San Francisco Symphony and the Museum of Modern Art. The Fleishhacker Foundation, today run by third- and fourth-generation descendants of this family, manages more than $13 million in assets and makes regular distributions in two categories: arts and education.

  The Mother’s Building at the zoo was donated by the Fleishhacker brothers and was a much-appreciated amenity for countless mothers and their small children for decades. Although it is no longer in service, plans are underway for its restoration. Photograph by Lee Emmett, John Varley Collection.

  HAAS FAMILY

  Among the descendants of Levi Strauss and Rosalie Meyer Stern, Walter Haas and his wife, Evelyn, established the Hass Foundation in 1953, and it has since awarded nearly $400 million in grants to support fundamental rights for all people. As far back as the 1950s, Walter and his brother Peter ensured that racial equality and decent working conditions were business standards in the company’s manufacturing plants—one of the first large clothing manufacturers to do so. The foundation has also donated generously to the Graduate School of Business at UC-Berkeley (where the Haas School of Business was named in honor of the family). Other significant donations have been made to nonprofit groups supporting the Chronicle’s Season of Sharing Fund, LGBT rights and Hunters Point Boys & Girls Club, as well as the massive transformation of Crissy Field into a premier urban park.

  JAMES DUVAL PHELAN

  Born in San Francisco in 1861 of Irish immigrant parents who became wealthy during the gold rush, Phelan graduated from St. Ignatius College (now USF) and law school at the University of California at Berkeley and became a successful banker and real estate investor. He was elected mayor of San Francisco, serving from 1897 to 1902, and later was chair of the Red Cross relief efforts following the 1906 earthquake and fire. He was elected U.S. senator from California in 1914 and served until 1921. Upon his death in 1930, his country estate, Villa Montalvo, in Saratoga, was given to the people of Santa Clara County as a performing arts center, and the Phel
an Award, an annual series of scholarships to young writers and artists, was funded in perpetuity in his will. He provided $100,000 toward the construction of St. Ignatius High School on Stanyan Street and also gave generously to USF, with Phelan Hall, the first campus residence hall, named for him.

  The University of San Francisco (USF) campus is adjacent to St. Ignatius Church, which celebrated its centenary in 2014. The school began as St. Ignatius College, and the present campus developed over the decades of the past century with the generous support of U.S. senator James D. Phelan and many others, expanding from a “streetcar college” to an international university today. Photograph by Michael Fraley.

  ALMA DE BRETTEVILLE SPRECKELS

  One of the first natives of the Sunset District to become widely known (she was born somewhere in the sand dunes between Junipero Serra Boulevard and the shores of Lake Merced in 1881), Alma had a poor childhood, often helping her mother in a small family-owned bakery. She attended art school and posed as a model for the 1903 Dewey Monument in Union Square before she met and married sugar heir Adolph Spreckels in 1908—when he was her senior by twenty-four years—and it has been said that this helped to coin the phrase “sugar daddy.” Taking her place in San Francisco society, she acquired many works of art for display at the 1915 Panama-Pacific Exposition. Following the end of the fair, she funded the construction of the Palace of the Legion of Honor in Lincoln Park as a permanent home for her donated collectibles. She also engaged in other charitable work, benefiting a museum in Washington State as well as providing significant funding to the Salvation Army for the establishment of its local thrift shops.