Happy Anniversary, San Francisco

What on earth possesses a person to wake up on a Tuesday at 4:30 a.m.? Today is the 100th anniversary of the 1906 Earthquake and I dragged myself out of the warm covers to scooter down to Lotta's Fountain and join 10,000 of my neighbors before the sun arose. It was a moving ceremony, highlighted by one of the survivors laying a wreath on the fountain just before a string of four horse-drawn fire engines charged up Market from Kearny. That was really a moment to remember--the sounds of horse hooves racing on the streets while bells and sirens alarmed the people. If you closed your eyes, you could almost go back in time.

Mayor Gavin Newsom--our City's own celebrity bachelor--talked to all 12 survivors there. He was so kind and respectful to each person and quick with a little humor should a memory waver. He's really an impressive public leader when you see him in person and was swarmed by admirers seeking his autograph after the ceremony. You would have thought that a movie star stood in the center.

The Mayor asked each of the survivors what they remember about the day or the years following. One woman, who was 3 years old when the quake hit, talked about the empty lots and the challenge that people faced while living in tents in Golden Gate Park. "What did people do?" He asked. "Well," she said, "they just had to rebuild." So simply put. I guess that's the charge in life: when we're hit unexpectedly, when nature or tragedy or random events slap us around, we "just have to rebuild." No excuses. No time to whine or cry. Just pick up the pieces--whether they're bricks or emotions--and start adding new mortar.

I don't know how long it's going to take New Orleans to recover from her own natural disaster. I hope and pray that the people will find within themselves the strength and power to rebuild. San Francisco rose from the ashes and established itself as a survivor. One hundred years from now, the Katrina survivors may stand in the French Quarter and talk of a day when the challenges seemed insurmountable, how they were sent to places far from their homes, and yet they rallied and perservered. Then they can write their own song . . .

It only takes a tiny corner of/This great big world to make a place you love/My home up on the hill/I find I love you still/I've been away, but now I'm back to tell you:

San Francisco, open your golden gate/You let no stranger wait outside your door/San Francisco, here is your wandering one/Saying, 'I'll wander no more.'

Other places only make me love you best/Tell me you're the heart of all the golden west/San Fransicsco, welcome me home again/I'm coming home to go roaming no more.