Remembering Uncle George

Old Uncle George!  He wasn’t really an uncle, just a family friend, but we called him uncle.  His real name was George Burbank, and he lived alone on Natoma Street in San Francisco, just about 3 blocks south of Market Street, in a four story walk up that was probably built right after the great earthquake and fire of 1906.  Even at the time, I was well aware of the dangers of that building.  Staying the night at Uncle George’s was comparable to sleeping on a match head!  If any one of the idiots living below fell asleep with a lit cigarette, there would be little chance of escape.

Despite the dangers, I visited Uncle George as often as I could.  It was a nice getaway for a young teenager living in the Sacramento basin.  San Francisco or Frisco as we called it, had much to offer and there wasn’t much of it that I did not see.  A typical trip would find me at the Greyhound Bus Depot in Sacramento, boarding one of those Scenic Cruisers for the 2 hour drive to the Frisco bus depot, just two blocks from Uncle George’s.

Dinner, the first night always started with a shrimp salad and was followed by steak with macaroni and cheese, a favorite of mine to this day.  Uncle George was a Ham Radio enthusiast and had a large “Heathkit” model on his kitchen table.  He worked during the day at “Gumperts,” a company that had something to do with food products.  I think Uncle George worked in the warehouse, but I’m not sure.

I was usually up by the “crack of noon,” and often would take in a movie at the Fox Theater on Market Street.  The Fox Theater was a site to behold.  It was the most magnificent theater I’ve have ever seen.  The seating consisted of the lower floor, the Mezzanine, and two balcony levels, all in red velvet.  Two side stairways exiting the Mezzanine emptied onto the main stairway that must have been 25 feet wide at the top.  The main stairway was divided by a polished brass rail and flared out into a lobby of plush flowered carpet, all in crimson and greens.  Inside the theater, was one of the largest pipe organs on the West Coast and on weekends there was usually somebody playing music until the movies started.  At the time, I took all this in stride, but looking back I can see that I was witnessing the last of its kind.  They don’t build theaters like that any more.

After a movie, it was not unusual for me to walk to Powell Street and catch the cablecar to Fisherman’s Wharf or Golden State Park or, if I had extra money, Fleishacker’s amusement park.  In those days you could hop on the cablecar while it was moving and hang on the side rails for the entire trip.  The last time I was in Frisco I noticed that they don’t allow that anymore.  All passengers have to be seated, and the car must come to a full stop for loading and unloading.  Much of the charm has been lost.

At the time, no trip to Frisco would have been complete without a visit to the “Emporium.”  The Emporium was a department store ahead of its time.  Five floors of goods where you could find anything from a safety pin to an airplane!

Two or three days was usually sufficient to temporarily satisfy my need for the “big city” experience and I was soon on my way home again.  I probably reenacted this scenario two times each summer between my 14^th and 17^th birthdays.