The kindness of strangers

On my first visit to San Francisco last November, I had an encounter that underlined the unrivalled hospitality of Americans. Standing admiring the magnificent stained glass of Grace Cathedral at the heart of affluent Nob Hill - literally named for the nobs who built the splendid mansions that crowned the hill – my friend and I were approached by Charles Shipley, the cathedral verger. Some few minutes later, we had discovered any number of coincidences – he knew Worcester Cathedral in England, to which my school, King’s, was attached, and the nearby town of Malvern, home of the Morgan classic-car factory. He then happened to mention that he read Country Life every week and did we know it. I replied that yes, I knew it rather well, having worked as deputy chief sub-editor there for six years! Subsequent emails cemented our friendship, and a first day spent driving across the Golden Gate Bridge in his 1996 Oldsmobile was rather a good reintroduction to life here. His welcome has been echoed by other friends of friends – when an American says ‘you must come and stay’, even if they are only acting on an email from a mutual acquaintance, they actually mean it.

Charles Shipley, and a rather nice view!

The tradition of generosity is strong here, on a personal and civic level. Indeed, Grace Cathedral was itself a beneficiary of philanthropy. In the earthquake of 1906 and the ensuing fires that wiped out much of the city, the old Grace Church was lost, together with the Crocker family mansion. The Crockers subsequently gifted the site of their home to the Church, and the new cathedral was constructed on the plot between 1927 and 1964, work being interrupted by the Depression and the Second World War. A replica of Notre Dame, it is now home to a thriving community of church goers and music lovers, and overlooks Huntington Square, an oasis of green amid tall apartment blocks and grand hotels. Typically, the land was gifted to the city by Arabella Huntington, after her family’s home was also wiped out by the 1906 fires.

Grace Cathedral

Full of roses and centred on Fountain of the Tortoises, the square is frequented by dogs of all shapes and sizes, couples embracing, Panama-hatted gentlemen reading Ambrose Bierce and old ladies watching the world go by. Sitting writing my diary there, my attention was caught by a powerful young bull mastiff and his tattooed owner. It was easy to label them as a dangerous pair, to be avoided, but when the man’s other dog, an old Australian cattle dog, came and lay down by my feet, we got talking. He explained how his mastiff had been owned by someone who had tried to train him to be a fighting beast, but that he was trying to retrain him and acclimatize him to human company. The mastiff was handsome and played goofily with his owner, but there were flashes of his fierce nature when he took a dislike to someone. The man knew England slightly, and even paid compliments to our food – a rare happening indeed. He waxed lyrical about the fantastic cuisine on offer in San Francisco, especially, he said, in the Tenderloin district, a patch between Nob Hill and the Civic Center known for its less-than-savoury characters. I had been warned away, but his description of the Indian and Eastern food on offer was very tempting. (I did have to conceal a smile when he said that he came from between Tenderloin and Nob Hill: Tendernob. Perhaps the euphemism doesn’t translate…) All my pathetic prejudices aroused by the dog and its owner’s extensively tattooed arms had been thoroughly dispelled by another instance of San Franciscan friendliness.

A view across Huntington Square towards Grace Cathedral from
a very comfortable bench

I am sure that a great part of such welcoming behavior comes from the pleasure San Franciscans take in simply being here. No better example could there be than the attitude of a waiter in an Italian restaurant on Polk to a rare drizzly day. ‘It’s epic,’ he beamed, when we mentioned the rain in true British fashion. ‘I love the way the lights shine through the water.’ In England, such weather would be met by a groan. Here, it was a novel experience to be cherished. Admittedly, it’s easier to bear when you know that it probably won’t return for weeks, but such an attitude certainly makes for a better welcome.

At the end of Tenessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire, Blanche Dubois says as she is led away by the doctors: 'I have always relied on the kindness of strangers.' In context, it is intensely poignant and symbolic of a lonely life bereft of loving relationships, but in America, the kindness of strangers is everywhere. It goes a long way towards making visitors feel at home, and, in San Francisco, no one feels like a stranger for long.

The back of Grace Cathedral from the corner of Sacramento and Jones

An exciting note to finish… I have just discovered a new flavor of Magnum ice cream to fall in love with – salted caramel! Scrumptious is the only word.

A last word to my English readers – apologies for the American spellings, but when in Rome (and using an American computer), do as the Romans do!