Stanley and Anthony

Stanley Williams died July 2 of this year. He was the Artistic Director of the Lorraine Hansberry Theater in San Francisco. What did this mean to me?- well, other than my guilt in not actively supporting the theater, probably not too much.
I have known Stanley peripherally though the years. He was a customer when I worked at Double Rainbow on Polk Street 25 years ago and had a great presence with his booming and warm voice. To us he was always up, in good spirits and enthusiastic. He showed interest in our interests and encouraged us, me to do well, and to do something we enjoyed doing. This never wavered when I saw him at the grocery store or walking down the street. I particularly enjoyed the tough kidding he gave to one of the staff; a young man named Aaron- Stanley's intent was to keep Aaron focused with goals and staying out of trouble. He always did so with humor but delivered in a military drill type of way.
Stanley and his partner, Quentin Easton have been at the helm of the Lorraine Hansberry for nearly thirty years but funding has always been difficult. In recent years -and perhaps this leading to my renewed interest, they lost their theater location because the Academy of Art purchased the property. Another reason for me to not dislike, but hate the Academy of Art- and I do this, before San Francisco is known as "San Francisco, as sponsored by the Academy of Art". Pretty much kicked the Hansberry out of the building. Quentin died months before Stanley this year. A good article by Robert Hurwitt can be found on SFGate 7/13/10. Of course I am too lame to actually link it but it can be found. The theater pledges to live on. I pledge to finally purchase a ticket.

Anthony. Completely unrelated to Stanley but as part reason for why this blog exists is to examine nostalgia and childhood, Anthony is worth discussing. Anthony -still out there somewhere, is about 4 years older than the rest of us. Us, that is the friends I grew up with, this being formative years of 10-18. I think he enjoyed us not only for being "funny" but because he was older and meaner than any of us, he could get away bossing us around.
On the other hand, the experiences he dragged us through (not to, but through) have provided some of these stories: from Anthony's technical skills in being able to steal wheels from Safeway shopping carts and transferring them onto the coolest of hand made 2-seater go-carts. He persuaded (forced)us to pull these models up to the top of the hill at the Legion of Honor. The pay-off for doing so would be as long as we could jump in once he began the coastal descent, would be the thrill of a ride down El Camino Del Mar, a ride over a mile long. We raced as madmen, madboys at high speeds zooming down the street, crossing in front of cars and trees across the other side of traffic, slicing onto a sidewalk (look out people!) and taking a hard turn into the parking lot of China Beach. This was not in accordance of the Properties of Safety and Survival. For a crazy person, he was a hell of a driver.
Later years would be riding a jeep on the golf course at night- no lights, driving down one way streets the wrong way, racing taxi cabs on a motorcycle on the freeway-no helmets. I suppose what worked for Anthony was that to do any and all these things, he was All In- no hesitation; a total belief based in skill and lunacy. It is completely wrong to be with anyone who steers a vehicle toward a pedestrian who has a bag of groceries in hand, but having to sit through movies where this happens but never occurs in real life, it's funnier in real life.
Anthony would annoy us ("come on, come on") with his whiny Steve Buscemi (no pictures exist of Anthony but he looked, sounded like Steve Buscemi) voice, then force us with bodily harm to get autographs of Major League Baseball players (we knew who the players were, Anthony knew the value of autographs) at the Jack Tar Hotel (now the Cathedral Hill) before ball players made the big bucks. I met Henry Aaron, Ernie Banks, Ron Santo, Johnny Bench, Pete Rose, Billy Williams. RBI!
Anthony had the audacity to badger players for their comp tickets to the games, and suprisingly the athletes would take the time to leave tickets for him at the gate. At Giants games, he talked his way into the broadcast booth after games to sit and talk with Hall of Fame announcer, Lon Simmons- who one time when we stayed to long and missed the bus back, gave us a ride back home.
My only contact with a Miss America was of course, through Anthony (he 17, me 13). She was making a public appearance at Giant Value (sort of a mini Sears/Target in the day) on Geary Street. I only remember Anthony directing her attention to me and me falling back, sliding to the ground. I still have her picture.
When he cooked spam, I thought that was the greatest thing ever. When he told me how I was actually born, I was never as upset - I denied all the accusations. I still do.
Scary times as once running from a dangerous crowd of people but Anthony forcing us not to run for it would show that we were scared- we were fine with looking scared but his powers of persuasion- physical harm- had us wait for the trouble to catch up. What I remember next is a big knife at my throat with Anthony daring the crazy knife man to hurt me. "You don't have the nerve." I did not particularly agree with this tactic.
I also remember Anthony's home as being cold; partly because he lived in the basement but mostly because the dynamics of his household; there was a lot of yelling and screaming, threats and fighting. These were times I cowered, not knowing what to do, hearing all of this through the walls.
At a certain point we all make decisions we live with- and just one incident turned bad might ruin a life- yours- so my boys if you read this, know that at some point, the sooner the better, you need to take yourself out of the possibility of these situations. I had to. It can stop being funny very fast.
Thinking about Anthony and his reckless ways, I believe that in these years that we knew him best, he was not that concerned about making it to tomorrow, or the future. He may not have cared for himself much but with us, he had us to care about (and torment). Ultimately to whatever events he dragged us into, he had to see that we came out of it intact, breathing. We were not unlike pets. So if having served as somebody's pet hamster for a time helped that friend to stay around, okay- I can live with that. Now, if you want some really crazy stories, you will have to ask me in person....