San Francisco: Hanging in The Haight

I leave Gene at Amoeba Records. Gene disappears in the vortex of one of America’s greatest record stores. Some might argue the Amoeba in Los Angeles is better, but we won’t be there for a few days yet.

I stroll down Haight Street, knowing I have plenty of time to wander while Gene record shops.

The iconic street seems less commercial than it did ten years ago when I walked these blocks the first time. (Does any place ever become less commercial?) But I see more small businesses and fewer franchises.

Ben and Jerry’s is still on the legendary intersection of Haight and Ashbury. An American Apparel shop is down the street. Of all the chain stores that might have wedged in, these two have a bit of hippie spirit—albeit in a less-than-authentic 21^st century way.

Haight Street is dotted with coffee shops, vintage clothing and boutique dress shops. I pass the fabled Café Cha Cha Cha; I see Cheap Thrills, the clothing-slash-head shop I browsed through last time.

The mannequin-to-beat-all-mannequins, the giant legs with fishnet stockings and red high heels still stick out a second-floor window. I stop in a couple boutiques and try on some well-priced skirts and tees.

Haight Street Haunters and Revelers

I see fewer old hippies haunting the street than more kids digging the scene, as they might say in retro-speak. Haight Street draws its panhandlers; most are young and sincere. Yet I ignore them or mumble a barely audible “sorry” as I do in New York.

One guy shouts “smile” to me as I pass; he is not offended that I give him no change. He seems genuine and now I feel bad. Trying to avoid bad karma, I give money to the next guy I see—a young guy with a dog. Nodding out he is not asking for money; but he needs it. I ask after his dog. He is pleased and I feel a little better.

A place-in-time can never be replicated and 1967 was the Summer of Love. Whether the kids hanging out are bad imitations, it beats a museum.

I meet Gene, happy with his haul from Amoeba.