Golden Gate like God’s own lavanlamp; every prospect pleases.nBut man is vile in ways that arendownright startling to a boy whosenvices run to S&D (smoking and drinking).nOf course, even without its mostnnotorious deviants the place wouldnbe . . . strange. In Marin County,nwhere BMW’s and New Age thoughtnseem to coexist comfortably, I keptnrunning into people who made menwant to go out and find a baby seal tonclub. All I can say is that Cyra McFaddennwasn’t far off the mark in ThenSerial—which, if you haven’t read it,nyou should, if only for the characternwho is regarded as an intellectual becausenshe has two M.A.’s (one innsociology and one in macrame).nAcross the bay in Berkeley, the graffitinare a healthier mix than they usednto be: one Maoist poster had beenndefaced with “666” (the Mark of thenBeast, of course) on Mao’s forehead.nBut the notorious People’s Park hasnbecome an encampment for the deranged,nthe drug-addled, and the justnplain shiftless, a depot for human debrisnswept westward by less tolerantncommunities to a place where therenreally is a free lunch, and supper, too.nBerkeley being what it is, these vagrantsnare politically organized, demandingnwhat they’re urged to think ofnas their rights from a community theynseem to have thoroughly buffaloed.n(Somebody said once that there’s nothingnwrong with liberal guilt; they justnfeel guilty about the wrong things.)nOf course, California was strangeneven before the 60’s; a great Berkeleynhouse reminded us of that. The formern”Temple of the Wing” was originallynbuilt without walls, a sort of colonnadednplatform on which folks livednand (I gather) ate nuts and berries. Itnhas walls now, but it still commands anmarvelous view of the bay, and thenghost of Isadora Duncan haunts thenplace. The same architect did the Universitynof California faculty club building,na splendid Aztec-Orientalnhunting-lodge sort of affair. A whilenback there was a movement to removenthe mounted animal heads that decoratenthe dining room on grounds ofnanti-speciesism or some such twaddle,nbut common sense prevailed for anchange.nThe point is that there’s a lot tonmarvel at in the Bay Area without evennmentioning homosexuality. Let’s getnthat on the record. But what’s trulyndistinctive about San Francisco, obviously,nis that it has become the Rome,nthe Moscow, the Salt Lake City ofninversion.nThe generally accepted estimatenseems to be seventy-five to one hundrednthousand homosexual men (andnI’m talking about men here: the city’snlesbians are less conspicuous) —nconcentrated enough and organizednenough to make virtually a city of theirnown, one as large, as diverse, andnpotentially as complex as, say, Durham,nNorth Carolina. Most cities havengay bars, but San Francisco has homosexualnnewspapers, restaurants, stores,nchurches, choirs, marching bands —neven a gay Lions Club and, accordingnto the Anti-Defamation League, a cellnof gay Nazis (and doesn’t that contextnmake that adjective unfortunate?).nOne result is that San Francisco isnnow the place that comes to MiddlenAmerican minds when the subject ofnhomosexuality comes up — and homosexualitynis increasingly what comes tonmind when the subject of San Francisconcomes up. When a dowager confessednin a conversation about grandchildrennthat she’d never be angrandmother because “my son, younknow, has moved to San Francisco,”nnobody had to ask what she meant.nEven Rice-a-Roni, “the San Franciscontreat,” is getting nervous — droppingnthat tag, I read, apparently becausenmarket research has found that manynnow associate the words San Francisconwith buggery and death.nThat’s not fair, of course — no morenfair than the listener who wrote AllnThings Considered to say that thenSouthern accent of one of the program’sncontributors made her think ofnthe oppression of black people. Butnonce a stereotype gains momentum,npeople begin to notice what they expectnto notice.nMy expectations for San Francisconhad been shaped by a recent reading ofnArmistead Maupin, an expatriatenNorth Carolinian who has become sortnof the Charles Dickens of gay SannFrancisco. Tales of the City andnMaupin’s subsequent books are fluff sonlightweight that I’m surprised theynhaven’t been turned into a TV sitcomnalong the lines of Three’s Companyn(it’s tempting to say that his sure touchnnnwith brand names reflects some arch,ncampy sensibility, except I recall thatnIan Fleming used the same gimmick),nbut they present an oddly touchingnportrait of the exhilarating, aren’t-wewonderful,npre-AIDS San Franciscongay life, with that life very much at thenheart of what the city is about.nIt’s possible, of course, for an innocentnto visit San Francisco withoutnparticularly noticing any of this. I don’tnthink my daughter, for instance, pickednup on the young male tourists at thenairport or even on the gay ghetto of thenCastro district as we drove through it.nShe could hardly ignore the pathetic,ndrunken, old drag queen she encounteredndowntown or the large “USEnCONDOMS” signs on the backs ofncity buses, but she left San Francisconpretty much as she came to it, with anromanticized view of city lights appropriatenfor a provincial lass of her agenand station.nThe strange thing is that my SannFrancisco friends don’t seem to notice,neither. It’s not so much that they’rentolerant as that they’ve become desensitized;nthey seem just to tune out thenubiquitous evidence of the homosexualnpresence. I really don’t want to grossnreaders out here: let’s just say that thenkind of thing that gives sodomy a badnname is hard to avoid.nYes, of course, most heterosexualsnwouldn’t care to be characterized bynthe evidence of Times Square’s movienmarquees, store-window displays, andnnewsstands. But homosexuals are definednby what they do to one another,nsexually. It’s the major thing they havenin common. So naturally their mostnreadily identifiable manifestations havento do with sexual activity.nBut they also have in common itsnconsequences, so something else theynshare, now, is the shadow of deathnfrom AIDS. The AIDS crisis, whichnremains largely theoretical aroundnhere, was very much in the news outnyonder. Obituaries presented a steadyndrumbeat of young lives cut short: thenwages of sin, to be sure, but a dirty tricknon those who believed the promise ofnsexual “freedom.” The condom ads onncity buses may help to promote “safensex” — although of course the onlynreally safe sex is with a faithful partner,nand they say a good man is hard tonfind. In any case, for many, it’s too late.nBay Area personal advertisements sportnNOVEMBER 1988/47n