Treat Street, Mission District, San Francisco
Every Saturday I walk by them, the two women who ring the bell and the single man who answers the door and greets them. For an hour or more, or for at least as long as it takes for my own standing lunch date, they huddle in the doorway, reading pages from Awake or The Watchtower. I’m incredibly moved by this scene of the same three strangers, week in, week out, and the conversation I imagine them to be having about matters of this life and after.
One afternoon, at the moment I passed, the women were waiting at the gate, with no sign of the man. I thought Ha! he’d tricked them, and decided to sit out their Saturday ritual, though that was the moment he stumbled forth, buttoning his shirt, opening the door, apologizing to them for the delay. The women weren’t troubled at all and told him to take his time. They seemed happy to wait.
It is the tender nature of the exchange, between two people of faith and one on the fence, and the simple kindness and respect with which they relate to each other that reminds me of civility, the likes of which is rarely on display in The City where behemoth tech buses roll. I wonder what the two ladies in their simple pressed blouses and tan loafers make of those.
There were days, not long ago, happier times on these blocks, when people strolled in their Sunday best even on weekdays, acknowledging each other with a tip of the hat and by appellation — Miss, Mister, Missus. I’ve told myself so many times, this old world no longer exists, and yet here it is, unfolding for me to witness, every Saturday afternoon in the Western Addition.
Filed under: San Francisco News, serial, Sunnyside Up, Tales of the Gentrification City, San Francisco, Western Addition
Denise Sullivan 