Saturday in the Park A mini adventure by Matthew Orel October 14, 1992 --------------- So there we were, Lori and myself, last Friday evening in our wonderful room by the pool at Dinah's, in Palo Alto. "What shall we do tomorrow?" Well, the Blue Angels will be flying over the Golden Gate, for Fleet Week, sounds like fun. Of course, I'm going to go to services first, to visit with my old friends and stuff my face afterwards, and it will not be easy to get to San Francisco by 1pm. Nonetheless, we decide to give it a try. Saturday morning arrives. Another perfect day in the Bay Area. I head off for services, and Lori for the pool. Maybe she got the better of the deal, but I'm not sure, because there's a Bat Mitzvah at the synagogue, services are short, and the kiddush is really good -- all fruits and sweets, all fresh and wonderful. I snitch a brownie and a little tort for Lori, and I'm off. As expected, we're just getting to San Francisco when the Blue Angels begin. 19th Avenue is gridlocked, so I cut over to 28th Avenue. Then, there it is. 500 feet, straight up, coming RIGHT AT ME. The soloist. Then he banks. I can breathe again. Finally, we make it to a parking lot up by Land's End, from which there is a good view of the Golden Gate Bridge. From our perch, we watch what we can see of the show. Such fun. There is a trail below us, so, of course, Lori wants to go. We climb down, down, down -- I'm wearing tennis sneakers -- until we get to a really nice spot. Many people lounging, some with cameras, some with binoculars. The Blue Angels occasionally buzz us, appearing suddenly over the trees that are just up from us, at the California Legion of Honor. Finally, the show ends. Now that we're in the city, well, we may as well stay. And, as long as we are on a trail in the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, we'll go along it, to see what is there. Walking along the trail, in the general direction of the Bridge, we look down and notice a beach. Too bad we do not have beach clothes or towels. Too bad I am still in long pants from the morning -- especially since it is pushing 90 degrees. Looking down at the beach, I notice that some of the people on the beach appear not to be wearing clothes. Lori does not believe me. Lori wants to check it out. So, we climb down, down, down, along muddy trails, through low passages, me in my tennis sneakers, until we get to the beach. They're naked, all right. And, THEY'RE ALL MEN. Even the ones with bathing suits. How depressing! Lori finds this all somewhat, uh, intimidating, and refuses to walk on the beach. It's a little strange to me, too. We go up onto the paths around the beach, and discover that there are many, many overlooks. Lori begins a comparative study. There's everything from very well endowed to invisible to clothed down there. There are even a few women, though never alone, and never naked. Except one. But she Looks like a man. There are also many couples. Gay couples, that is. Some are proving their orientation for all to see. Enough of this beach. We find a path to get back up to the main trail. At least we think it is a path, until it dead ends at a tiny little clearing, in which we find... Well, we did not bother to ask questions or look too closely. Finally, we climb, up, up, up to the main path and back towards the parking lot. Just as we get there, it's CRASH BOOM BOOM. No, not the Yale Precision Marching Band. But it is the 6th Army Band, all 23 of them, serenading us with "Americans We." There are a bunch of old men wearing Navy shirts, standing by a monument. As Lori and I make it to the monument, the ceremony begins. I put on my shirt. A man with a Japanese-made voice amplifier (I think it is called a VOX) tells us about the men, who are the last survivors of the USS San Fransisco, which served valiantly at the Battle of Guadalcanal in 1942. This ceremony commemorates the 50th anniversary, and the monument is part of the USS San Francisco's bridge, which took some heavy hits during the battle. The man tells us about the battle and about the heroism of Rear Admiral Callaghan, who, along with 75 others, was killed in action. Many presentations are made. Some of the presenters sound like Republicans, so I'm glad Lori is wearing her Clinton/Gore shirt today. Then, I notice that the man who just ambled over next to us is the mayor of San Francisco. He gets up, says a few things about how appropriate it is to have the monument of the USS San Francisco here at Land's End, and I'm thinking, well, perhaps he should see the beach. The ceremony ends, and we decide to leave. As Lori and I head to our car, we notice a really cool Lincoln Town Car with many options. Of course, it is the mayor's. He comes over and introduces himself. "Hi, I'm Frank Jordan. I used to be a gay-bashing police chief, I buy my clothes at Sears, the Giants are moving to Tampa Bay, and I'm Republican. How am I doing?" OK, so he stopped after the "Frank Jordan" part, and he actually seems like a nice guy. We tell him we're there for the Blue Angels. Time to check out the other nearby beaches. First, to China Beach. Very nice. Family beach. OK, on to Baker Beach. Very Nice. Family Beach. Except, down that way, towards the bridge. There seem to be people there who are not wearing clothes. Lori does not believe me. Lori's feet are tired. Lori does not want to check it out. So, we take off our shoes, get our feet wet. It is now very hot, and we are very sorry for not having brought beach stuff. I'm wearing my long pants, which are now sandy and a little wet. We walk down the beach a little, and there are definitely naked people on the other side of the beach. Lori can see this. Lori wants to check it out. Down the beach we go, and, hallelujah, this time it is equal opportunity nudity. Of course, it is still 80% men, but it's a nice place, families together, just being people at a beach. Finally, we sit. It's real hot, and the water looks real cool. But I have no beach clothes, and no towel. This is not a problem anymore. I go for a swim. Very refreshing. Lori does not go swimming, just watches. Says she's real glad she picked me.