It was fun to be young in San Francisco a long time ago. I drove by the old Coliseum Theatre on Clement Street the other day and felt a pang of sadness at the sight of that boarded-up derelict. The Col once enjoyed the delighted patronage of neighborhood children on Saturday afternoons. To be old enough to join friends and plunk down our dimes for admission was a coveted step in maturation. Our mother occasionally supplied an extra nickel for the frozen chocolate-covered bananas we bought in the little shop next door.
A dear uncle was always thinking of special treats for my brothers and me. I think our most favorite was when he took us to Playland at the Beach to ply the slides at the Fun House and drive the little cars at the Red Bug.
Because we lived nearby, Golden Gate Park became our playground. The boys played football, baseball, and soccer after school in those wonderful meadows and fields. One time my ten year old brother nearly went over the waterfall at Prayer Book Cross and had to be pulled to safety by his older sibling. The museums, the aquarium, and the tea garden were ours to explore on Saturday mornings while our shepherd Jeff waited outside.
At Presidio Junior High we girls began to notice the boys, although I think I had my eye on them all along, and loved the dances where we could watch an adorable drummer by the name of Johnny. The captain of the traffic squad once invited me to the policeman’s ball and although not a real date, it was a kind of coup.
On Wednesday afternoons, a group of us would rent horses at the St. Francis Riding Academy on Seventh Avenue. The instructor took us out on the bridal paths of Golden Gate Park or put us through our paces in an indoor ring. I was actually nervous about horses and only went because one of my best friends was wild about them. My first date occurred when she chose to go riding one Friday night and told her beau to take me instead. We went to Topsy’s At The Beach for dinner, a divine place with slides from the balcony down to the dance floor. I remember ordering coffee which I detested in order to appear more grown-up.
An exceedingly pleasant evening during teenage and college years was hotel dancing. For the price of a few cokes, which in those meant cola, we danced the night away to the dreamy music of Freddie Martin, Carmen Cavallero, and Ernie Hecksher. When it was time to go home, the lights dimmed and the band played Good Night Sweetheart.
We didn’t have TV, computers, or even a refrigerator in those days, but I wouldn’t trade the memories of my youth for all the VCRs and video games in the USA. Perhaps the years have cast a rosy glow over those years, but I don’t think so. They were wonderful days.
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