When I was a youngster, I used to pester my mother, asking her to tell me stories about the Great Depression and the Second World War.

I was only curious. It didn’t mean I actually wanted to experience those horrors.
Funny how life rolls around in a crazy pattern. The New Depression, or quasi-Depression, has a grip on us. As for World War, well, no real World War yet. We just have too many wars going on right now. One is too many.

Even the Marina, with its pretty, placid exterior, seems to hold a quiet sort of anxiety these days. I walked through the Tenderloin late last month. San Francisco has wild contrasts between neighborhoods. The TL is verging on out-and-out anarchy. The tourists from the nearby big hotels looked scared out of their wits. So was I. No wonder Gavin Newsom and Kamala Harris are aspiring to jobs in Sacramento. I don’t blame them for wanting to get the hell out of here. Of course, most of us have to stay and try to figure out what to do.

San Francisco used to enjoy an exquisite form of madness, the kind of madness that stimulated the soul and fed the intellect. At least it was amusing.

It was a fun sort of lawlessness that created the Beats, the be-boppers, the hippies, the Diggers, the renegade musicians, the barking beatified poets, and later, even the high-rolling dot-com people who seemed to have had a great deal of fun. But that was some kind of fallacious fun, built in many ways on a cracked foundation. That’s different than the cracked artists and writers that I loved so much.

“This doesn’t feel like a city,” said a woman from Chicago in the lobby of the Fairmont. “Chicago is a real meat and potatoes city.”

One fellow from Los Angeles sniped, “San Francisco is small and confused.”
You mean it’s no longer everybody’s favorite city?

I now fear the worst. In many ways we’ve lost our sense of humor. We’ve lost our sense of fun. There was a sense of mischief, a sense of zaniness here. Caprice was the order of the day. With 40 years in San Francisco, I give myself license to reminisce a little.

Nostalgia is affordable. It’s hard to be gracious when your pockets are empty and when so many try to get their hands into your pockets – even if they are empty.

In the old days, a tea party involved smoking grass. Now I hear about so-called Tea Party people who would rather see chaps like me paralyzed – and then cut off our medical marijuana. Tea Party? As in Boston Tea Party? Aw, c’mon now. Dr. Samuel Johnson said it: “Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.”

The Tea Party has scored a few victories by exploiting voter disenchantment and their many disappointments. But being drawn to them is like marrying someone on the rebound. Marrying Sarah Palin – literally or metaphorically – is a chilling thought. That’s the same as drawing crazy patterns on your sheets, as Mr. Dylan phrased it.

Speaking of matters medical, I’d like to know who is in the California Department of Insurance. These people are allowing insurance companies to raise their rates by 19 percent or even more. That includes Aetna, Anthem Blue Cross, Blue Shield, and Health Net. So much for health care reform.

What a sign of the times.

Californians are exposed to a marauding band of reverse Robin Hoods. They steal from the poor and give it to the rich.

“To live outside the law, you must be honest,” Mr. Dylan warned.

On the topic of music legends, 16 years ago I ran into Eric Clapton in the Marina. He had brought his blues show to the Fillmore, which had been closed for decades. I had just been separated from my wife and had my own blues.

“I know how you feel, man,” Clapton kindly intoned. “My girlfriend went back to her old boyfriend. I’m kinda torn up about it.”

“You mean women actually leave Eric Clapton?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure.”

Fortune magazine had reported that Clapton had made $600 million that year.
“At least your work is going well,” I said facetiously.

He didn’t crack a smile. He said, “You know, Bruce, we can always control our work. We just can’t control the people we love.”

With that, he offered me two precious tickets to his show – the hottest tickets in town.
“Maybe this will help things between you and your wife,” he said.

It did – for a while. But what has endured is recalling Eric Clapton’s kindness. I have to keep in mind there are very decent people on the planet. It helps to remember that in order to get through dark times. I have to trust some people sometimes. Even if someone might always be trying to get into your house and draw crazy patterns on your sheets.

Bruce Bellingham writes for Northside San Francisco and is author of Bellingham by the Bay. Even if he’s in the kitchen with the Tombstone Blues, he likes to get e-mail. Send him a note at [email protected].