Covering San Francisco's Tenderloin

 

The Tenderloin is home to a diverse assortment of our society, including low-income folks, immigrants, addicts, parolees, artists, business people, the homeless, hipsters and families. 

Over the next 90 days I will walk every street in the Tenderloin, covering the neighborhood for my Journalism 300 class at San Francisco State University.

San Francisco’s Tenderloin district possesses a bad reputation for drug use, crime, vice, homelessness, gangs, and is generally perceived as an unsafe place to visit– especially after dark.

According to police statistics the Tenderloin, affectionately referred to as the “TL” by locals, touts the highest crime rates in the city proper, and is home to the greatest population of parolees in San Francisco  ( Crime Map 500 feet radius October 2, 2012).

Even the name itself – Tenderloin – is reputedly derived from a criminal connotation.

Historians say the term originated from a police captain who transferred to a high-vice area, and said “I’ve had nothing but chuck steak for a long time, and now I’m going to have a little tenderloin,” referring to bribes.

A map of the TL from the San Francisco Police Department website ( Map ) shows the triangular shaped district as approximately 45 blocks bordered by Market, Geary and Larkin streets.

From the vantage point of Nob Hill, positioned next to Grace Cathedral Church and the Masonic Temple, looking down across the TL and Market Street , one gets a sense of the divisiveness between the “haves” and the “have not’s.”

Hoofing down Jones Street through the “Lower Nob” while crossing intersections in a steady descent, the surroundings began to change, as luxury buildings and boutique hotels give way to single room occupancy hotels (SRO's) and liquor stores.  
The TL is chock-full with SRO's where low-income residents, including Veterans and those on social security live.

 

The sidewalk becomes grimy and appears neglected.  Graffiti tags reveal themselves on the sidewalk, marking territories, and the pungent smell of urine hit one’s nostrils.

With each block closer to the heart of the TL feelings of danger and caution begin to rise through one’s chest.

Pressing on across O’Farrell Street things really change, as folks stand, sleep and squat in every doorway and easement in all directions – while tough looking men congregate at the corners. 

There is a pressing sensation of desperation, and violence – fear.

An African American man stands at the corner in shabby clothes hawking street newspapers, appearing guarded, with fear in his eyes.

He is from Sacramento, here to earn a few bucks and move on, deciding that things were much different in the TL these days, compared to the last time he was here, over ten years ago.  “It is too rough out here,” he said.

He declined to offer his name. And for good reason…

Before long, a man, appearing to be a look out for drug dealers walks up and slices a hand across his throat, motioning the man to stop talking with a reporter.

The lookout guy looks intimidating and appears very serious. 

The reporter moves on and the man from Sacramento wears his best poker face.

Around the corner, Leon (who declines to give his last name), works the front desk at Glide Memorial, and says that more people than ever needed help, with the bad economy.

“It’s tough out there,” he said.

Across the street, Cristina Alarcon, who lives in the Cecil Williams Community Housing  said that a corporation recently began managing her building, and initiated a curfew which barred her family from visiting after hours.  She said that she was recently attacked by bed bugs in the building’s recreation room and raised her pant leg to reveal her wounds.

A few blocks to the East, retired San Francisco Police Commissioner Wayne Friday, was working security in front of the Curran Theater.  Friday had a journalism degree, and used to write for the Bay Area Reporter.

“I have two pensions, but I keep working so that I won’t sit at home drinking vodka,” Friday said.

And around the corner from the Hotel California, on Shannon Street, which is nicknamed “Veterans Alley” stood a brightly colored mural dedicated to veterans who struggled against PTSD.

Across the street a crazed homeless man threw down his half-full alcoholic beverage and chased after a pedestrian who evidently made the wrong comment.  The pedestrian ducked in a hotel lobby, as the lunatic stopped in his tracks, dumbfounded, and began hollering incoherently.

“I was in Viet Nam,” the lunatic finally shouted, evidently searching for the pity of a stranger, where there was none.

After circumnavigating six square blocks the TL revelaed much to me as a small picture of the neighborhood began to develop in my concioussness, but there was so much more to see.  

Only 39 more blocks to go.