August 12, 1998

A few thoughts about Herb, and Budd, and Playland at the Beach.

"Who was this guy Herb Caen?" said the young man seated across the aisle on the train. He had just left San Francisco and was heading for Salt Lake City. He'd been traveling on the American equivalent of a Eurail pass, starting from his hometown of Toronto, Canada. In San Francisco he'd seen Herb Caen Way and other memories of a writer who left so very many memories behind when he died of lung cancer those short months ago.

How do you explain Herb Caen to a guy from Toronto? I started with the bare bones. He wrote his column for 58 years. If he didn't invent three dot journalism, he made it his own. He was a workaholic who wrote his column obsessively right up to the end. He was known to everyone who was anyone in San Francisco, and everyone who considered himself or herself a San Franciscan knew him, or thought they did. When he switched back to the Chronicle from the Examiner, he took at least 30,000 subscribers with him.

I never met Herb, yet I felt like I knew him. After all, I knew that he was born in the Azevedo apartments at 920 "O" Street, Sacramento. I remember when his son was born. He's now an adult. I read Caen off and on for almost fifty years, starting in high school. My first subscription to the Chronicle started with what I earned after school at the Santa Rosa Press Democrat, where I started at 65 cents an hour, four hours a day. I was the kid who "flew" the press (took off the papers as they were printed), kept track of the ten-year-olds selling papers on the street, ran the switchboard for an hour a day, and did any other odd job that needed doing. And I read Herb Caen to learn what was happening in "The City."

My Toronto visitor knew better than to call it Frisco, but I thought it would be rude to challenge him when he called it "San Fran." After all, he meant no harm. But if you want it thought you're a northern California native, don't call it Frisco, or San Fran. Do call that sofa in your front room a Chesterfield, and mention it's in the living room. If you want it thought you grew up within 100 miles of the Ferry Building, talk about "the city", and, if you're my age, casually mention Budd Heyde, the announcer whose memorable voice gave life to Samuel Dickson's essays on KPO or KNBC. The program was "This Is Your Home" and the sponsor was W & J Sloane, a furniture dealer. The program, during the many years it was on local radio had other names and other sponsors, but those are the ones I remember best.

How do you tell a Canadian what Caen meant to San Francisco? It's probably impossible. How do you explain that when they wanted to celebrate his 80th birthday they requisitioned the Palace of the Legion of Honor and brought in the cast and props from Beach Blanket Babylon? How do you explain how the most locally oriented journalist in the nation got a Pulitzer for lifetime achievement? Caen is now a historical figure, like Emperor Norton. He is a memory, like Sutro Baths, and the Fleishhacker Pool, and Playland at the Beach.

I miss them all, and if I could bring any of them back, I'd start with Herb.

Paul Azevedo also gets maudlin about Pacifica from time to time. He can be reached via e-mail at reactor@wenet.net.