This is a continuation of yesterday's post [which I will likely remember to link in a few days]. So if you're just now arriving look further down the page and read We Grew Up In San Francisco first.The River is the Russian River, and no other, but the Lake is Lake Tahoe only if your family was wealthy; otherwise, the lake is Clear Lake. The Mountain is Tamalpais; Mount Diablo is "Dyeaablo," and is has no first name.
The town on the river is called Gurneyville, even though the correct pronunciation is Gurnville. San Franciscans know the correct pronunciation but choose not to use it. If corrected on this, a native will likely say, "If those guys up there are so smart, what'er they doin' livin' there? People who live in Gurneyville all year are a buncha Okies anyway." It should be noted that being called an Okie - as in persons from Oklahoma or anywhere south is among the worst insults a San Franciscan can offer; it means a person lacks taste or sophistication.
Natives are often asked for directions, sometimes by tourists and often by pseudo-natives. A San Franciscan of course, has no idea where anything across the Bay is, but he knows all about San Francisco.
To start with, unless a street is tiny, like Saturn Street or Macrondray Lane, it is never called by its full name. You never say "Taraval Street," for example, only "Taraval." When you direct someone to go "out Geary," by which is meant you go west. You know, toward the beach. One never goes "in Mission," or "in Geary." To head in the general direction of downtown, one goes "down Mission" or "down Geary."
It is "the beach," too, not the seashore or the coast. The coast is Down the Peninsula, near Sharp Park. There are no beaches on the Bay, despite evidence to the contrary - only on the ocean.
San Franciscans know there are 30 numbered streets and 48 avenues; they know Arguello is First Avenue and Funston is 13th Avenue. They know that First Street is not the first street, and that Main is not the main street.
The Richmond district is always called "The Richmond," and the Sunset District is always called "The Sunset," but Noe Valley has no article in front of its name; neither does downtown or North Beach. No one knows why.
Natives do know it is always 24th (pronounced twenny fourth) and Mission, not Mission and 24th. It's Second and Clement, not Clement and Second. The Street is not pronounced "CLEment" but "Cle
MENT."
There is no need to make a distinction between Second Street and Second Avenue in this case, since San Franciscans know that Second Street and Clement do not intersect. They know several other things, too: that Alcatraz is not called The Rock, that Yerba Buena Island is called Goat Island or YBI, that French bread is not called sourdough bread and never was. The name "sourdough" for honest bread was invented by advertising guys from Chicago or someplace.
They know that Italians do not eat pizza. They eat spaghetti, tagliarini, or some other stuff, mostly in North Beach, but sometimes in small places in the Mission or Daly City. Daly City is near the county line. San Francisco has no city limit.
San Franciscans call the movie theater "the show," as in "I went to the show last week, and jeez, the guy behind me was coffin all through the pitcher. I couln'n' hardly stant it." "The theater" (pronounced "thee-ater") refers to the legitimate stage.
There are San Francisco threats, too. One of the worst is to act so irresponsibly that you will be put away, as is "if you keep actin' like that, you'll end up in Napa," which, of course, is the local mental hospital. This threat has lost some of its power lately, since these days half the people at Powell & Market appear to be deranged.
Another threat is the danger of being forsaken by your family and friends in your old age and sent to Laguna Honda, the city's old folks' home.
When San Franciscans read papers, they read the Ex (the Examiner) or The Chronicle (never called the Chron). Old guys usta read the Call (as the Call-Bulletin was called) or the Noos (The San Francisco News, which very old residents called the Dailynoos). San Franciscans never, ever read the San Francisco Magazine, which is written, edited, and produced for tourists.
Television is pretty much a wasteland of standard spoken English, though there are a few bright spots. Joe DiMaggio, a native of Martinez who was raised in North Beach, sometimes appears on behalf of a product he calls "Mista CAWfee," and it is possible to watch the news on KPIX, because anchorman Dave McElhatton is suspected of being a native, or, on KGO, where Van Amburg holds forth. He went to State, ya know.
With any luck, you might catch Russ Coughlin, also on KGO-TV. He is a graduate of Mission High, and has the last pure San Francisco accent on the local airwaves.
As for the rest, it's pretty hard to hear all these radio and TV types mispronounce the names we all grew up with ("I'm standing here at the Persiddio" or "at Mare Island, up by Valley-jo." Or, as I heard last week, "He was buried on Colima."
Most of us grew up under the delusion that everybody was a native San Franciscan. It was the largest small town in the world, and we thought it the only city that counted. Occasional tourists complimented us on the city, but we never dreamed they'd move here and take over. Everywhere else was far away, and the jet plane hadn't been invented.
I went to high school with a guy who was a direct descendant of Francisco De Haro, the first alcalde of
Yerba Buena, and I have a friend whose great-great-grandfather walked to California from Rabbit Hash, Ky., in 1844. No big deal.
Once, after she bought a house in the Richmond, one of her new neighbors asked her where she was from. "I moved out here six months ago," she said. "Oh, from the East or Midwest?" the neighbor asked. "No," she said, "from California and Buchanan."
Perhaps you are now thinking of fooling your friends by pretending to be a native. Don't try. There is only one way to be a native San Franciscan. You gotta be born here.
"Anybody," my grandfather used to say, "can be born in Oakland, or Back East. It's an honor to be born in Sanfencisco."
When I was a kid I only knew a couple of folks who weren't native San Franciscans. One was Mrs Eames, a neighbor of my grandparents, who also went to our church. She was from Boston and had only been in S.F. for about 35 years, which means she was around when my mother was born in San Francisco. Heck, three of my four grandparents were born there. They were all there for the Earthquake. Poly (Polytechnic High School) is long gone; the cable cars don't go everywhere they used to, besides, the tourist have taken them over; and there are freeways that have been built and then torn down. Many of the natives are like me. They've moved to get away from the folks who think they know our city. Trouble is... they're following us and they're not 49er fans like us natives
