The Tenderheart District

January 19, 2024

Sometimes we just have to face our cynicism and despair.

A few days ago my friend Birgit and I drove down to San Francisco to explore the notorious neighborhood that author Gary Kamiya calls the Museum of Depravity:

In the universe of San Francisco, the Tenderloin is the black hole, the six-block-by-six-block area where the city’s urban matter is most intensely concentrated. It is the only part of San Francisco that remains untamed, its last human wilderness. Without the Tenderloin and its radioactive core of junkies, drunks, transvestites, dealers, thugs, madmen, hustlers, derelicts, prostitutes, and lowlifes, this overpriced, increasingly homogenous (city) would feel like one of those motel bathrooms that are “sani-sealed for your protection.” The Tenderloin is the creepy Mr. Hyde…to the rest of San Francisco’s respectable Dr. Jekyll…All of which is to say that the Tenderloin is a large turd – often a literal one – floating in the crystal punchbowl that is San Francisco. (Gary Kamiya, Cool Gray City of Love)

Compared to the “sin city” that is the Tenderloin, Las Vegas is the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

But as we discovered, the Tenderloin is a horrible, wonderful, fascinating place.

We prepared for our journey through hell by first attending a Sunday service at Glide Memorial, a non-denominational church in that neighborhood famed for feeding the hungry and providing social services to the down and out. While the two ministers were black, as I expected, I was surprised that most of the gospel choir, musicians, and congregants were white and other ethnicities. I always thought of it as a predominantly black church, but it turns out that the church is multi racial, as is the neighborhood.

One of the ministers addressed the negative stereotype of the district by saying that the Tenderloin is more than a crime-infested, drug-using, homeless encampment – it’s a place where people love and help each other; it’s a community of hope. As Birgit and I were to learn, it’s an inspiring place in the midst of misery and sorrow.

After the relentlessly upbeat service, we joined a small, church-sponsored tour of the neighborhood. Our white, middle-aged tour guide, Dennis, was himself a homeless addict six months ago, but with the help of the church and other non-profit social service groups he’s now living in an SRO (single room occupancy) apartment in the Tenderloin.

Dennis took us to the clean, well maintained little Boeddeker Park that displays a huge mural of a giant tree with houses and apartments in its branches and the slogan “Everyone Deserves a Home.” The neighborhood is noted for its many outdoor murals and a growing community of artists and musicians. He showed us an impressive little art museum, Yemeni and Vietnamese restaurants, new affordable housing, St. Anthony’s Dining Room (free meals), the Golden Gate Theater (live performances), and the now historic site of the 1966 Compton’s Cafeteria riot where transgender women and gay men fought back against police harassment three years before the similar but better known Stonewall uprising in New York.

Everywhere we went we saw examples of people with big hearts devoting their lives to helping others. There are so many marvelous non-profits, such as Faithful Fools, practicing the kindness of Jesus and the Dalai Lama. Even so, I had to deal with my skepticism and pessimism about the efficacy of volunteerism and do-gooders.

In the summer of 1970, after high school but before college, I volunteered for Summer Happening Thing, a group I was misled to believe was a part of the reputable Youth For Service. Our purpose at Summer Happening Thing was to provide recreational opportunities and field trips for children in San Francisco housing projects. And we did that. But as the summer wore on, we were dismayed to learn that the lofty promises of direction and support that were made to us naive white teenagers were illusory; our inspirational black leader spent his time in bars rather than helping us help the kids. And while the girls in the projects were sweet and appreciative, the boys were little monsters who probably are now either in prison or dead.

So knowing that I can sometimes be mistrustful of idealism and judgmental about criminal behavior, I took a chance and went to the Tenderloin to see whether the volunteers there are the real deal or just another version of the leadership of Summer Happening Thing.

Everyone I met was sincere, compassionate, and open-hearted. In the words of the Faithful Fools mission statement: “We are called to a life of presence that acknowledges each human’s incredible worth. Aware of our judgments, we seek to meet people where they are, through the arts, education, advocacy, and accompaniment. We participate in shattering myths about those living in poverty, seeing the light, courage, intelligence, strength, and creativity of the people we encounter. We discover on the streets our common humanity through which celebration, community, and healing occur.”

San Francisco is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. And not just because of its bridges, islands, ocean, bay, Golden Gate, and architecture. But also because of the lovely, generous spirit of the angels of the Tenderloin.