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701 Haight St. by Tom Bryant March 14, 2007 I was the manager of an old home/converted apartment building at the corner of Pierce and Haight St., San Francisco (7 blocks west of Market St.). It was an off-white stucco covered 3-story with 6 units. I lived in the seventh unit, a small converted rooftop shed/studio ultra small apartment. Being the manager I had access to the whole place, but also always kept my apartment door unlocked; so that anyone there could come up and visit or complain. One afternoon, I was in the apartment making lunch when a young, 20 something, black guy came up the stairs. I thought maybe someone wanted to rent one of the apartments. Instead he pulled out a hunting type knife and said "where's all your money?" I couldn't think of why he would think I would have money. It's not like I kept rent cash around the place. So I started to reach into my pockets to give him what ever I had on me. He said stop that, I want your money box. So I of course gave it to him, containing only the month's receipts. Then he told me to sit in a chair and demanded some rope so that he could tie me up! Of course all my rope ( and tape, for that matter) was down in the workshop/garage, and told him so. I told him that I'll just sit here and let him look around for money all he wanted, but I didn't have any. Do I look like I have money I asked him, look around, I don't even have a TV for you to take. He looked frustrated. "Come on man", he said, "I need some money to pay rent. You got to have something." Nooo, I said, but I have jobs, I do hire. "No, I need money now", he said. After he looked through all the drawers, cabinets and other obvious places for money, he sat across from me, knife in hand. I thought he was going to threaten me, or worst. Instead he told me about how he lost his job, couldn't find another, his wife was threatening to leave him, even with his baby on the way and how desperate he is to get the rent paid so that they won't be thrown out into the street. We talked for about 45 minutes about his plight and how bad everything can get. He was a mess. I asked him how much he needed for rent and who his landlord is. He said it wasn't any good taking to him. I said, you never know I might know him. Anyway, I said, if I'm going to write a check for your rent who do I make it out to? He didn't think I was serious and just trying to get away to call the cops or something. Look, I said, I'll just get my check book and write a check and you give it to your landlord. What's the catch? he asked. No, catch, just call it karma. (Plus, at this point, I thought I could get him out of the apartment). "Really?" he asked. Anyway, he seemed to be happy at that point, plus I promised I wouldn't call the cops, and so he left, leaving me somewhat shaken, but safe. I went back to the rest of my chores. A year later, almost to the day, he showed up again. This time he brought his wife and two kids, one only a couple months old. He introduced me to his wife and kids. Told me he has a good job, and gave me $450 dollars, cash. In the years following that, I sometimes would run into him, but most usually at the check-out at a locate food mart. He always told me how he was getting along. He and his wife always sent me Christmas cards until I moved away and in moving lost his address. About the author: I moved away from San Francisco long ago and now own a construction design company. I've written about many of the things that happened there, but rarely try to publish them. Being in San Francisco during the late 60s and early 70s was an exciting experience. But I like the small town atmosphere of Laramie, Wyoming now, and would not move back. | | | |
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