Jim Hlavac |
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I went off to see San Francisco when I
was 20 years old -- and I wound up in
Seattle, Vancouver, and Florida --
before going back to NYC nearly a year
later. And a grand adventure it was.
was 20 years old -- and I wound up in
Seattle, Vancouver, and Florida --
before going back to NYC nearly a year
later. And a grand adventure it was.
In 1978 my two brothers joined the Air Force, about 1 month apart. Everyone in my family looked at me and said “wouldn't it
be nice to have three boys in the Air Force.” I said, “You talking to me?” I knew there was no way I was going to manage
more than a week in such an environment without being thrown out unceremoniously. And while I'm not sure, I think they
were still asking “Are you a homosexual” in 1978. And my answer would have been “Yes.” And that would have been that,
one hoped. The nation wasn't ready for me back then, so I demurred – and bought a one way ticket to San Francisco. I
didn't quite choose it for being a “gay” place – so much as it was the farthest city away in which I did not need a car to get
around. Simple enough.
So I took my savings – oh, a few grand, unknown to anyone in my family, secretly stashed away ever week for two years from
my job at King Kullen supermarket, where I was rather out, having been out in high school, and earlier – and I bought a
ticket. I gave my boss a month's notice, and I gave my mother two weeks. My mother wanted me to see a psychologist for
some reason. I told her: “You have the problem, you need the psychologist, not me. Enjoy.” And off I went. And it was
exhilarating. My first flight, delayed by 3 hours due to horrendous storms. I landed in the wee hours – so went to an airport
hotel – didn't even plan it, or think about it, or worried about it, until I got off the plane, and thought – well, that's the thing to
do. So I did it.
And in the morning, after barely any sleep, I got up and took the hotel shuttle bus to the city. And was plopped down in front
of the main bus station, I guess. And I stood there for a few moments, checking in the reality that I was alone in another city –
where I knew no one, and had no earthly idea what I was going to do. I had no hotel reservations. Indeed, I had no name of a
hotel, or where one might be. I knew nothing other than that I was in San Francisco. It was June 21st of that year. My
brothers went in to service in April & May – I figured June was the time to get out. And so there I was – standing on the main
stairs of the main bus station on Market Street in downtown San Francisco, the giant pyramid sticking up above the other,
squat, flat box buildings.
All of a sudden an elderly Chinese man walked up to me. He looked up, for he was a good foot shorter than me – and said
“You new in town, you go to Pickwick Hotel – down Market Street.” As he did so, he pointed the way he wanted me to go,
finger waving and jabbing, first at me, then at the far distance. I said “Yes, I am new in town. Why there?” “That is good place
for you.” Then he smiled. And with that bit of sage advice from the old man, he walked away from me as quickly as he had
appeared. It was serendipity, for that launched me into a slew of friends and a rather exciting time in the City by the Bay.
So, not having anything else to do I did go down Market Street, and I did find the Pickwick, and it was a place for me – it was
sort of like a youth hostel, only everyone was gay, and fairly young. Immediately I met people there. For there were so many
guys sort of just like me. A few I still have, in a way, even if it is down to brief contact once or twice a year, for the 33 years
intervening have sent us on our ways.
And I wrote a journal along the way. And so here that is as a PDF file. The Improbable Traveler
be nice to have three boys in the Air Force.” I said, “You talking to me?” I knew there was no way I was going to manage
more than a week in such an environment without being thrown out unceremoniously. And while I'm not sure, I think they
were still asking “Are you a homosexual” in 1978. And my answer would have been “Yes.” And that would have been that,
one hoped. The nation wasn't ready for me back then, so I demurred – and bought a one way ticket to San Francisco. I
didn't quite choose it for being a “gay” place – so much as it was the farthest city away in which I did not need a car to get
around. Simple enough.
So I took my savings – oh, a few grand, unknown to anyone in my family, secretly stashed away ever week for two years from
my job at King Kullen supermarket, where I was rather out, having been out in high school, and earlier – and I bought a
ticket. I gave my boss a month's notice, and I gave my mother two weeks. My mother wanted me to see a psychologist for
some reason. I told her: “You have the problem, you need the psychologist, not me. Enjoy.” And off I went. And it was
exhilarating. My first flight, delayed by 3 hours due to horrendous storms. I landed in the wee hours – so went to an airport
hotel – didn't even plan it, or think about it, or worried about it, until I got off the plane, and thought – well, that's the thing to
do. So I did it.
And in the morning, after barely any sleep, I got up and took the hotel shuttle bus to the city. And was plopped down in front
of the main bus station, I guess. And I stood there for a few moments, checking in the reality that I was alone in another city –
where I knew no one, and had no earthly idea what I was going to do. I had no hotel reservations. Indeed, I had no name of a
hotel, or where one might be. I knew nothing other than that I was in San Francisco. It was June 21st of that year. My
brothers went in to service in April & May – I figured June was the time to get out. And so there I was – standing on the main
stairs of the main bus station on Market Street in downtown San Francisco, the giant pyramid sticking up above the other,
squat, flat box buildings.
All of a sudden an elderly Chinese man walked up to me. He looked up, for he was a good foot shorter than me – and said
“You new in town, you go to Pickwick Hotel – down Market Street.” As he did so, he pointed the way he wanted me to go,
finger waving and jabbing, first at me, then at the far distance. I said “Yes, I am new in town. Why there?” “That is good place
for you.” Then he smiled. And with that bit of sage advice from the old man, he walked away from me as quickly as he had
appeared. It was serendipity, for that launched me into a slew of friends and a rather exciting time in the City by the Bay.
So, not having anything else to do I did go down Market Street, and I did find the Pickwick, and it was a place for me – it was
sort of like a youth hostel, only everyone was gay, and fairly young. Immediately I met people there. For there were so many
guys sort of just like me. A few I still have, in a way, even if it is down to brief contact once or twice a year, for the 33 years
intervening have sent us on our ways.
And I wrote a journal along the way. And so here that is as a PDF file. The Improbable Traveler