I decided to visit San Francisco for a few weeks and take in some sights - Coit Tower, Fisherman's Wharf, etc. I thought the time away would do me some good - a vacation.

Meanwhile, vigilantism was beginning to feel like my vocation, my calling. Well, I didn't want to answer any more calls. I seriously thought about quitting the whole thing. I could start by getting rid of the gun. But I couldn't help myself. Crime had become so rampant and out in the open that I couldn't turn a blind eye to what was around me. Criminals acted with arrogance and impunity. The police were becoming as scarce as snowballs in July. I think some of them were afraid to get involved. Of course, most cops wanted to do the right thing and lock the bums up. And, so did I.

The city by the bay was beautiful. It was a good change of scene from where I had been - very relaxing. One day I was sitting outside a café in North Beach feeling quite comfortable and relaxed as I sipped on a tall cappuccino. And everyone I met in the markets, restaurants, and cafes was friendly and easy-going. Then I decided to take a little walk.

I felt as though I had entered a third-world country. I saw tents lined up along the street-side. People were lying on the sidewalk, sleeping, passed out, or high on drugs. I saw hypodermic needles and drug addicts injecting who knew what into their veins. Many looked malnourished, emaciated, and generally unhealthy. People were fighting with one another while others were urinating and defecating on the same sidewalk where their tent was - if they were lucky enough to live in a tent. Some folks could only salvage large cardboard sheets and rags to fabricate a makeshift home. The stench of urine, feces, and marijuana was unbearable. I quickly turned away and headed back.

I did manage to visit Coit Tower. What I found most interesting were the murals inside the building. One of the paintings depicted industrious, hard-working laborers picking oranges while women gathered calla lilies. Some of the men tended fields beside a row of greenhouses.

By comparison, another mural was oddly different, depicting a busy city scene complete with a motor vehicle accident and an armed mugging in broad daylight! The artist had painted all the activity with equal treatment, as though the mugging was just another part of urban life in 1934. It got me thinking - Maybe things hadn't changed after all.

After two weeks in Frisco, I decided to head home. Don't get me wrong. I enjoyed the sights, restaurants, and cafes. But I began to feel uneasy - like I didn't belong. I felt oddly unsafe, even with my Magnum. And, being a visitor in town, I didn't feel proper carrying a gun.

As crazy as things were back home, I felt more comfortable there. I guess the devil you know is better than the one you don't.

California / Maxine Albro

City Life / Edward Hansen, Farwell Taylor, Victor Arnautoff

Photos by Michael DeFrancesco

Copyright © 2022 by Michael DeFrancesco