The artistic inkeepers

Bill and Denise Shields operate the Artists Inn.

Story and photographs by CARINA WOUDENBERG

Half a block up Pine Street from Fillmore, behind a perfectly maintained white picket fence, stands the Artists Inn.

A flag flies in the breeze, but there is no sign of what lies behind the pale blue and white facade: three former art studios that a decade ago were transformed into a charming bed and breakfast.

“Never did it cross our minds we’d run a B&B,” says the inn’s co-owner and co-proprietor Denise Shields. She and her husband, the respected artist Bill Shields, bought the house in the mid-70s when it desperately needed their love and care — and a major remodel. (more…)

The end of a design era

Every year, his clients have been invited to tour designer John Wheatman’s home.

LOCALS | THOMAS REYNOLDS

In the springtime came the annual invitation to stop by the corner of Alta Plaza Park and tour the elegant home of interior designer John Wheatman.

Hundreds of current and former clients walked through on May 3, a cool, grey Sunday afternoon, to admire the treasures Wheatman has acquired and the good taste with which he has arranged them — and his garden, looking splendid in the mist, and grown entirely in pots and planters on the rooftop.

So it was a surprise when his letter of September 30 arrived. “I have decided to retire,” he wrote. “I have loved every minute of my involvement with you.” And in merely a month the end has come, after 45 years, for John Wheatman & Associates.
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Vivande and the U.S. Supreme Court

Lisa Middione at Vivande in 2009.

By THOMAS REYNOLDS

When the first Monday in October arrives and the United States Supreme Court takes the bench after its summer recess, all eyes will be on the newest justice, Sonia Sotomayor.

But Lisa Middione, co-owner with chef Carlo Middione of Vivande on Fillmore Street, will be thinking instead of two justices from the past: her great-grandfather, Justice John Marshall Harlan, who served from 1877 to 1911; and her uncle, her mother’s brother, Justice John Marshall Harlan II, who served from 1955 to 1971.

“We were very close to Uncle John,” she says of the younger Harlan, having grown up near him in New York. “The family just adored him — and he had a great sense of humor.”

The family’s commitment to law and public service was established early on. Expecting greatness, the first John Marshall Harlan’s father had named him after Chief Justice John Marshall, who in the early days of the republic was primarily responsible for establishing the court’s authority.

The Harlan family hailed from Kentucky. They owned slaves, but when the Civil War came, John Marshall Harlan fought to maintain the Union. Despite his misgivings during the Reconstruction era, he would go on to become one of the nation’s most important voices for equal rights.

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One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor!

Joanne Weir: Women love tequila, too.

By Joanne Weir

It all started several years ago when an invitation arrived in my mailbox on Pine Street beckoning me to the launch of a spiffy new tequila in a sexy square bottle.

It took place at Tommy’s, the well-known tequila bar out on Geary, and was mostly men who were sniffing and swirling their glasses of tequila. But the few women who were there were just as enthusiastic.

I discovered that night that women love tequila just as much as men. They go out with their girlfriends for margaritas, and they also savor tequila straight-up with meals, drink it slowly from a snifter and enjoy it mixed into new, innovative, seasonal cocktails. I was thrilled by the camaraderie among these women and pleased to learn that I wasn’t the only one out there who liked a beverage that had long been considered the domain of men.
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STILL STANDING

Longtime Fillmore cobbler Ed Nahigian, owner of SF Boot and Shoe Repair.

Longtime Fillmore cobbler Ed Nahigian, owner of SF Boot and Shoe Repair.

LOCALS | JAMES CARBERRY

“I was standing right here when it hit,”says Ed Nahigian, the veteran owner of San Francisco Boot & Shoe Repair, occupying his usual position behind the front counter where he greets customers.

It’s the same place he was standing shortly after 5 p.m. on Tuesday, October 17, 1989, talking to a customer who had dropped by the shop at 2448 Fillmore Street to pick up his loafers.

A chandelier in the store window suddenly started to vibrate. He knew in a nanosecond what was happening.

“I think we’re having an earthquake,” he told his customer.

Nahigian turned to alert his 12-year-old son and an employee in the back of the shop. A wall was undulating as if invisible waves were coursing through it. Fearful that the building might collapse, he shouted for everyone to get out of the store.

Seconds after they were outside, the earthquake ended as suddenly as it had started. The building was still standing, and the store had not been damaged. Other buildings on Fillmore Street also seemed to be intact.

A woman who had parked in front of the shop turned up her radio, and people gathered around to listen to the news. There was a report of fires in the Marina.

Nahigian hurried up Fillmore to Broadway to look down on the Marina. Sure enough, fires had broken out and some apartment buildings and a number of homes were severely damaged. Nahigian ran back down Fillmore to report what he had seen. By the time he got back to the shop, he was exhausted and feeling a little nauseous. It began to sink in that he had just lived through an earthquake.

As night came on, news reports made clear there had been extensive earthquake damage in the Bay Area. Part of the Bay Bridge had collapsed, as had part of the Nimitz Freeway in the Oakland. Earthquake damage had forced the closure of the Embarcadero Freeway, which would later be torn down. The earthquake struck just as third game of the World Series was about to begin, and the San Francisco Giants and Oakland Athletics would wait to play another day.  Because the Series was broadcast globally, people all over the world saw the earthquake live on television.

As he had done many times before, Nahigian locked up his store and went home for the night. On Wednesday morning he returned to the shop, although there was no business to be done. The power was out, and the phones were dead.

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As the day progressed, the neighborhood filled with people. “Everybody wanted to be outside with other people,” Nahigian says. “We were all hugging one another — we realized how fortunate we were.”

Early Thursday morning the power came on, and phone service later was restored. Gradually life began to return to normal on Fillmore Street and elsewhere. But it would be a long time before the Bay Area fully recovered from the Loma Prieta earthquake, which originated in Santa Cruz County, lasted about 15 seconds and measured 6.9 on the Richter scale.

Despite the memories of the 1989 earthquake and the constant threat of another one, Ed Nahigian remains glad he set up shop in the neighborhood.

Born and raised in the Central Valley, he learned the shoe repair business from his parents. He had always dreamed of living in San Francisco, so when his parents moved to Marin County, he started scouting out neighborhoods in San Francisco where he night open a business.

One day he was driving through the Marina and came to the foot of Fillmore Street.

“I turned right at a Colonel Sanders and drove up Fillmore, wondering whether my VW would make it up the hill,” he says. He found a shoe store on Fillmore Street, took over from a previous tenant, renovated the shop and opened for business. That was in 1980, and his store is now one of the oldest on Fillmore Street.

Nahigian has seen many changes in the neighborhood, where he both lives and works. “There used to be a lot of professional people in their 40s or older — they would pack the downtown buses every weekday morning,” he says. “While there are still a lot of professionals here, they are younger, and there are more families with young children living in the neighborhood.”

Nahigian says he has stayed in business for so long by providing superior customer service.

“I use the best materials, and I decline to do certain types of work, like leather bags” he says. His business has changed over time. “My work used to be equally divided between men’s and women’s shoes,” he said. “Now it’s almost 90 percent women’s work.”

He says he has learned to accept life’s inevitable changes. “You don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” Nahigian says, “but you can appreciate and enjoy what you have.”

Early most mornings, Nahigian walks from home to his store, which is open every day except Sunday. He lives near St. Dominic’s Church, whose tower was severely damaged in the 1989 earthquake, and later repaired, shortened and strengthened.

This Bud’s for you

Photographs of Bud Martinez by Mina Pahlevan

By Syed Ali

Bud Martinez comes to work most Monday mornings at the garage at the Shell gas station at California and Steiner Streets, just as he has for more than 50 years — and more than a decade after he sold the station and vowed to retire.

In 1952, he started working at the Shell station. Before long he took a former employer’s offer of help and, for $4,000, bought the station. In 1996, after decades of long hours and hard labor, Martinez decided to sell the station and retire. But just when he thought he was done, the station pulled him back. “The fellow I sold it to made some mistakes, so I came back to help him,” says Martinez. “Things didn’t work out, so Shell Oil Company took it over and hired a management company. I’ve been here ever since and there have been four new owners. I’m still here, but not as the boss.”
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They see everything — and everybody — at Jet Mail

Photograph of Jet Mail owner Ed Tinsley by Kathi O'Leary

By Donna Gillespie

THERE’S A PLACE in the neighborhood where you can hear a ripping yarn, linger for the latest news and rub shoulders with other locals such as maestro Michael Tilson Thomas, director Wayne Wang and a Getty or two — all while shipping holiday gifts to the relatives back home.

In small towns across the country, that place might be the local post office. In the Fillmore, it’s Jet Mail, at 2130 Fillmore Street.

Owner Ed Tinsley and manager Kevin Wolohan probably hear as many personal stories as most bartenders or barbers.

“There’s an atmosphere of conviviality,” Tinsley says of a typical day at Jet Mail. “People open up. The mailing’s often an afterthought.”

Jet Mail is also home to more than 300 mailboxes, many used by people as business addresses. “Mailboxes are really the anchor of the store,” Wolohan says. “People need a safe place to receive packages or mail. There’s something very personal about it.”
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A lifetime of loving film

Global but local: film critic David Thomson on Fillmore. Photograph by Lucy Gray.

“What should I see?”

It’s the question the eminent film critic and historian David Thomson is asked most often — sometimes even as he walks his dog in Alta Plaza Park or runs errands on Fillmore Street.

Now, more than three decades after he published his landmark Biographical Dictionary of Film, Thomson has responded to the question comprehensively in a new book published in October 2008 titled Have You Seen…? Its subtitle bills it as “A personal introduction to 1,000 films, including masterpieces, oddities, guilty pleasures and classics (with just a few disasters).”
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A merry band of Food Runners

Photograph of Mary Risley by Lucy Gray

By MARJORIE LEET FORD

Like Robin Hood and his band of merry men, Mary Risley and her crew of Food Runners take from those who have too much and give to those who don’t have enough.

It all started when she realized she had a problem at Tante Marie, her cooking school: Her student chefs couldn’t eat as much as they cooked. Tante Marie had too much food — really good food — while people all over San Francisco went hungry.

One day Risley found herself with five wedding cakes. She took them to Glide Memorial Church, and Rev. Cecil Williams nearly fainted. Another Sunday she took him seven boned ducks stuffed with veal pate.

Then she got the idea for Food Runners.

It started small in 1987 in her little Victorian just off Alta Plaza Park. She and some friends in the restaurant world devised a way to deliver about 50 pounds of food a week to people who needed it. Now, two decades later, Food Runners delivers more than 2,000 pounds of food each week — and sometimes a lot more. Every time there’s a street fair, there’s a truckload. After the last Bay to Breakers race, the harvest was 2,000 pounds of edibles; later that day, Food Runners picked up a second ton from a catered event.

Such a feat takes a substantial network of volunteers. At first there were few enough that Risley could coordinate their pickups and deliveries from her home. Now there are 450 volunteers. Theoretically there are two paid employees, volunteer coordinator Nancy Hahn and a truck driver — except that he’s no longer driving, so now Hahn drives the monster, growling, “I am woman, hear me roar!”

The shiny white truck was donated by the UPS Foundation. Another supporter donated an office on Union Street. Some expenses are covered by various foundations. Chuck Williams, founder of Williams-Sonoma, is a major supporter, and many others contribute as well.

The businesses that give food — restaurants, hospitals and markets — also benefit, financially and otherwise. One big downtown hotel saves $750 a month by donating unused ingredients and unserved dishes. Otherwise it would pay a penny a pound to compost it — or 5 cents a pound to have it taken by the trash collector.

The lift in employee morale is another benefit. When a Food Runner steps in, the parking valet, the dishwasher and the person flipping pizzas leap to open doors and hoist cartons into the car. Grins stretch their faces and many say, “It’s great what you’re doing.” Between the lines they’re saying, “It’s good what we’re doing.”

Every day Mary Risley and her merry band of Food Runners get 2,000 meals to citizens of San Francisco who otherwise might not eat. Somewhere Robin Hood is smiling.

To volunteer or contribute, visit www.foodrunners.org or call 929-1866.

Farewell to the queen of wash and fold

Barbara Conway: retiring after 40 years of laundry.

FIRST PERSON | Lynn Harrison

“Got some new drawers, I see — finally. I don’t see how you keep ’em up.”

“Barbara, didn’t I have a pair of green . . .”

“Threw ’em out. Totally shot. You’ve been needing new ones since God was a baby.”

Barbara Conway retired June 25, 2008, after 40 years of running a no-nonsense wash-and-fold laundry service at Fillmore and California, now the Wash ’n’ Royal, but for decades the Wash Palace. During all of those years, she found more than a few surprises in the wash — from Halloween novelties to sex toys — alongside more sedate bags of laundry, including mine.

Barbara has been many things: the queen of wash and fold, the empress of local gossip, the cigarette’s handmaiden. It’s nostalgia, I suppose, but I still miss the faint puff of nicotine that used to emanate from my neatly folded package of not-so-tighty-whiteys.

But what she is and always has been is much rarer in this life. Barbara is a loving, giving, big-hearted genuine human being — a one-of-a-kind real person who never shies from saying what she thinks.

When my washing fortunes changed and I no longer placed my faded socks and drooping drawers under Barbara’s scrutiny, I felt that undeniable elastic tug of guilt. I could taste that soapy bittersweet flavor of remorse. But we still saw one another on the street, and our friendship continued.

Now that Barbara is retiring and I may see her less often, I have a confession: Things of cotton, even socks with holes, may come and go in one’s life; but Barbara, never have more skillful or loving hands been in my drawers for so long, and with so few demands.

UPDATE: Three weeks after Barbara Conway retired she checked into the hospital and never came home again. She died on September 21, 2008.

“I think she’d known for a while that something wasn’t right, but didn’t realize how bad it was,” said her only child, Marie Stroughter. “She didn’t tell anyone — didn’t want to worry anyone or be a bother. I didn’t even know.”

She had advanced cervical cancer, which led to heart trouble and blood clots that required her leg be amputated. “But she never lost her sense of humor,” said her daughter. “She was lucid, flirting with the doctors — very matter-of-fact to the end.”