The Tenderloin

The Tenderloin: The tourists avoid it, the locals love it, and the liquor shop owners sweep the homeless from their doorways.

When I got off at the Powell Street BART station I thought to myself, "There is a recession going on?" They parade of shoppers and tourists waiting for a ride on the cable car seemed endless. Until, I crossed the street and walked just two short blocks to the corner of Turk and Ellis, arguably the base of one of San Francisco's most notorious and dangerous neighborhoods.

Five years ago, I had a friend who worked the graveyard shift at the Harcourt, a hotel in the heart of the Tenderloin, on Larkin and Sutter. That was where my interest in this neighborhood was peaked. I saw prostitutes and their johns try and hustle my friend out of time in a room, saw undercover police hide in the shadows of the downstairs lobby, and met and heard some of the most interesting people and things inside that one hotel.

The impression that I got from my first day back in the Tenderloin, was very different from the one I had years ago. I went to a 9 a.m. Sunday church service at Glide Memorial Methodist Church and was struck at the composition not only of the people in attendance, but the service as well. This was not like the Catholic church services my grandmother used to drag me to. Instead it was a "celebration" where people of Jewish, Muslim, among other religions all came together.

I went expecting to feel oppressed because of my lack of recognized faith and left feeling like the people there were doing something to help the Tenderloin community. I signed up to serve breakfast on Friday to the community, and am hopeful it will expose me to more good resources in my neighborhood. I also think this will be one of the best ways to talk to people who might be homeless, instead of approaching them on the street which can be dangerous... as I've learned.

In the "worst" parts most of the buildings, cars and people look rundown, unwashed, and uncared for, and everything takes of a grey drab tone. I was approached by four people on one block asking for money before 9 a.m. on a Sunday. Some shaking, visible with signs of their addiction.

In sum, some horror stories are true, I did see people abusing drugs, lying passed out on the street, but I also saw a community come together to recognize the crisis going on around them.

I'm covering a tough neighborhood, but there are gems underneath these trodden streets, I can feel them. Perhaps I will find them in the used book stores on Polk, or the countless corner sandwich shops, which I will swallow along with my pride as I refuse to think about the health and sanitary codes adopted by some of these establishments.