Montgomery Street
Montgomery Street has seen its share of stone faces, among them financiers Charles Crocker, Collis Huntington, Mark Hopkins, James G. Fair, James C. Flood, "Lucky" Baldwin, Darius O. Mills, and Senator William Sharon. The stoniest that ever showed up on Montgomery was that of the city's first suicide, William Glen Rae, one-time factor of a Hudson Bay Company trading post at Montgomery and Commercial. When workmen were putting a sewer through this corner, they found Rae in a glass-covered coffin. His face was eerily identifiable through the oval glass. Some bystander admitted "Alas, poor Willie, I knew him, Horatio," or words to that effect.
Another Montgomery ghost one might encounter if given to extrasensory perception is banker Billy Ralston, who swam to his death at Aquatic Park in the days of rough-tough speculation in Comstock mining stocks, Black Friday and Asbury Harpending's great diamond hoax, all fantastic chapters in the city's business life.
History has continued to walk the street. When the new Standard Oil Building opens at 555 Market, there will be another museum free to the public. Until other Pacific ports can match it, anecdote for episode, and inch for thousand dollar running inch of front footage, San Francisco will continue to be The City, and the West Coast stronghold of a freedom sometimes called Capitalism. Town, underplayed if you're city-watching.
The bad Barbary Coast of the 1860's, which brought San Francisco international infamy just a little higher than the Devil's (a little lower than Port Said, Panama or Limehouse), was a lusty waterfront world that snoozed by day, boozed by night and hadn't heard of "split personality."
Today two different worlds of showmanship inhabit the sites or buildings of the old Barbary Coast. To get an insight into the article, conjure out of memory a rinky-tink banjo thrumming loudly "Way out in San Francisco where the weather's fair, they got a dance out there, they call the Grizzly Bear," while a plaintive sea-worn voice moans, "I cover the waterfront," and a distant, well-disciplined piano politely interjects the strains of "Danse Macabre."
Another Montgomery ghost one might encounter if given to extrasensory perception is banker Billy Ralston, who swam to his death at Aquatic Park in the days of rough-tough speculation in Comstock mining stocks, Black Friday and Asbury Harpending's great diamond hoax, all fantastic chapters in the city's business life.
History has continued to walk the street. When the new Standard Oil Building opens at 555 Market, there will be another museum free to the public. Until other Pacific ports can match it, anecdote for episode, and inch for thousand dollar running inch of front footage, San Francisco will continue to be The City, and the West Coast stronghold of a freedom sometimes called Capitalism. Town, underplayed if you're city-watching.
The bad Barbary Coast of the 1860's, which brought San Francisco international infamy just a little higher than the Devil's (a little lower than Port Said, Panama or Limehouse), was a lusty waterfront world that snoozed by day, boozed by night and hadn't heard of "split personality."
Today two different worlds of showmanship inhabit the sites or buildings of the old Barbary Coast. To get an insight into the article, conjure out of memory a rinky-tink banjo thrumming loudly "Way out in San Francisco where the weather's fair, they got a dance out there, they call the Grizzly Bear," while a plaintive sea-worn voice moans, "I cover the waterfront," and a distant, well-disciplined piano politely interjects the strains of "Danse Macabre."