“He was a giant in my life,” Hope said. “More than any other person I’ve known, he showed me the meaning—taught me—forgiveness and unconditional love.”
Henry “Hank” Wilson, gay activist, innovator and humble servant of the Tenderloin’s sick, poor, and homeless, died at Davies Medical Center. A nonsmoker who had survived the ravages of AIDS, he was 61 when he died of lung cancer.
Wilson’s achievements are so epic some friends have called him the Mother Teresa of the Tenderloin.
MUSICIAN WHO ALMOST MADE IT
GARY MAGUIRE narrowly missed his 15 minutes of fame as a musician. The drummer once tried out for the Jefferson Starship band and had just about everyone’s vote, Stephanie Olson, his wife, said after Maguire’s memorial at the Coronado Hotel where they had lived for six months.
“Grace Slick liked him and the others in the band wanted him, too—he could play all the instruments but excelled at the drums—but the execs didn’t,” she said. “So he didn’t get it. If he had, I told him he wouldn’t have lived very long, leading that kind of life.”
Maguire didn’t have a long life, as it was. He died at the hotel, presumably of liver complications, at age 49.
Several generations of his family were from South San Francisco, so he knew a lot of people. He worked in construction for a while, then was homeless with her for several years. Even so, they made the best of it. Once, when they had a little cash, they took bicycles to Woodside and rode around looking at fabulous houses.
The city’s Homeless Outreach Team got them into the Coronado and Maguire started to change, got edgier. He was cheerful enough indoors, but not out in the hood where danger lurked. He was sensitive about cruelty and injustice.
Among her fondest memories is when they were homeless in Burlingame and bought a big, six-person tent—Olson 39, is 6 feet tall herself—and pitched it by the railroad tracks. They had nothing but each other.
“We’d lie there and talk about nothing and everything. He was so happy and generous. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for me. And nobody bothered us ... We had no water or electricity,” she said. “But I was so happy to be with him and wake up to the songbirds.”
A TROUBLED MAN
LOUIS O. GUZMAN Temperamental Louis O. Guzman likely got more respect at his memorial than he got in his 14 years living in the Turk Eddy Preservation Apartments. Cantankerous and combative, he was difficult to be around. He constantly complained and swore, and tried to hustle his fellow residents for money.
“I told him once, ‘Mr. Guzman you can’t go out on the street talking that way to people—you’ll get beat up or killed,” said manager Patsy Gardner. She said he shot back. “That’s why I’ve got this cane!”
Guzman died at St. Francis Hospital two weeks before his 84th birthday.
Seven residents from the 20 occupied apartments in the building paid their respects at Guzman’s memorial. A few recalled he had asked them for cash, others said he wanted to sell them things they didn’t want, like the two old bicycles in his room.
Guzman left Hawaii 59 years ago. He has a sister there and a brother in the East Bay. It’s believed Guzman worked in construction at one time. He rallied against government and disliked handouts, yet drew SSI and Social Security, totaling barely $900 monthly. Still, on a few occasions, he sent his sister $75 money orders.
“Not many saw that side of him,” said Rev. Glenda Hope, who conducted the memorial.
BATMAN
LONDEVETTE MORGAN earned his “Batman” nickname by keeping a vigil over the neighborhood while seated at the window of his fifth-floor Elm Hotel room.
The self-appointed street savior claimed to now many of the shopkeepers below and would tip Elm staff to any untoward activity in their vicinity.
“He saw himself as a peacekeeper,” said case worker Adam Decker.
Morgan, a garrulous teller of tall tales, often would get lost in his random thoughts until someone pulled him back to his story line.
“I saw him Monday, the day before he passed,” said Ricky. “He came by and gave me a dollar, sometimes it was $2. He had a good heart. You don’t see many like him.”
Roz, the only woman among the eight mourners, said Morgan wanted her to be his girlfriend and told her was going to marry her. But it was hard to know when Morgan was kidding or on the level, she said.
Scott Ecker, Elm services manager, recalled that once, as he was trying to catch a taxi in pouring rain, Morgan came outside and held an umbrella over him for half an hour, as a simple kindness, talking the whole time.
“His storytelling was crazy, and it was hard to know what was factual,” Ecker said. “But I was fond of him.”
Other mourners said Morgan had told them he had played bass in a band and had been a boxer.
A man who lived across the hall said he had had “thousands” of encounters with Morgan and “75% of them were unhappy. He could be a monster, too,” he said, without elaborating. “He was very sick at the end. I think he drank himself to death.”
Batman, apparently ignoring his failing health, died in bed reading his newspaper. He was 53.
ACTIVIST WIFE OF AN ACTIVIST
LORETTA FLORENCE PHILLIPS overcame a crippling childhood and as an adult conquered alcoholism to eventually find peace and stability in the Tenderloin.
Phillips began life in New Orleans in 1922 with two strikes against her. She was born with polio and her mother died in childbirth.
“Her father gave her up to a convent,” said her husband, Marvis Phillips ... “But she was determined to walk as a little girl—and she did. She never had to have leg braces.”
The plucky Loretta Phillips rebounded from other childhood misfortunes.
Marvis Phillips said the father reclaimed her at age 6 and moved to Chicago.
“Her father raped her when she was 13, and she had a child,” Phillips said. “Then the father kicked her out when she was 18, and she was homeless in Chicago before they had adequate welfare. The authorities took her child away, and she never saw her child again.”
Mavis Phillips doesn’t know when Loretta arrived in California. He knew that when he met her she had been married three times and was an alcoholic. He believes her wake-up call came while doing six months in jail for being drunk and kicking a policeman in the groin. In her early 60s, she quit through Alcoholics Anonymous. She was sober for 25 years when she died.
VIETNAM WAR HERO WITH MYSTERY LEGACY
ROBERT DUSSAULT. A dozen friends bid farewell to Robert Frederick Dussault, a Vietnam War hero and former Union Street antique dealer, in a memorial at the Empress Hotel where his friendliness and generosity were highly regarded.
Dussault died of “natural causes.” His friends said the ravages of old war wounds reduced him in recent years, and hastened his death at 64.
They described (him) as an intelligent man with a lovely soul who volunteered to help without being asked, was courteous, invariably had a kind word for folks and would do anything for a friend. But he deeply distrusted the government and impressed people by making his conspiracy theories seem so reasonable.
(In high school), he was elected senior class president. Dussault attended UC Berkeley, married his high school sweetheart and joined the Navy, becoming a lieutenant in the SEALS. He was wounded in Vietnam and sent home for good, but he insisted on returning, and he did as “a river pilot,” a move that ended his marriage... His boat was strafed, he was wounded and lost the use of his right arm.
Besides the memory of his good will ... Dussault bequeathed a mystery. He was believed to have several storage rooms full of antiques.
Pioneer of Supportive Housing
LEROY LOOPER From City Hall to San Quentin, representatives of the community cross-section that he’d served gathered at the Cadillac Hotel to honor Leroy Branch Looper, whose vision had transformed the site from a slated-for-demolition relic into a beacon of hope.
Looper, a former addict and convict who dedicated himself to helping
others, died three days after quickly losing consciousness in his chair at McCormick and Kuleto’s restaurant, just after he’d made a speech. He was 86.
Former Mayors Dianne Feinstein and Art Agnos sent huge floral displays.
He rose from a child of the underworld to become a leader in efforts to lift others from such circumstances, using his hard-earned street smarts to educate better-credentialed social workers in how that world actually works.
“Leroy had a charmed life,” said Kathy Looper, his wife of 39 years. He was “a man who changed destiny in a lot of ways, not only his own but others as well.”
Looper’s 1976 purchase and subsequent conversion of Eddy Street’s rundown Cadillac Hotel into a supportive housing facility may prove to be his most significant and lasting accomplishment, though there were many.
When he first took over the Cadillac, he got big push broom,” (Brad) Paul recalls. “The (drug) dealers moved down the street.” They’d return in a few hours, so Looper then began hosing down the sidewalk. That would keep them away for a few more hours. Before long, Paul said, merchants up and down the block were following suit and things started improving.
“He understood that was more important than having one more police cruiser.”
OPEN TO THE TRUTH
ROSE RIDOLFI generated strong emotions in everyone who knew her, and she had acquaintances throughout the Tenderloin.
“I knew her for two decades,” said Rev. Glenda Hope, who officiated at Ridolfi’s memorial at the Franciscan Hotel. “I have to say, I wasn’t surprised at her passing, but I thought she’d always be around. She was like the little girl who had a curl—when she was good she was very, very good, but when she was bad she was horrid.
“We can talk about Rose like that here,” Hope added. “People tell the truth at Tenderloin memorials, that we’re all a mix of good and bad.”
The rest of the memorial was one story after another ...
“Oh, she liked to talk, but she always apologized for talking so much,” recalled Victoria Barros, Franciscan assistant manager. “You have to think she was very lonely.”
“When I first met her, I couldn’t stand her,” said Leo Chosa...” She was so high-maintenance. She always spoke to me and I may have growled, but she always came back. I came to accept her. She was like an era unto herself. Things won’t be the same without her.”
THEY CALLED HIM HOLLYWOOD
GLEN BURISE had a spark. Everybody saw it. Maybe it was personality, though he wasn’t boisterous, funny, or overly playful, just kind of edgy. It made you look and consider him. And that’s what he wanted.
That was the image held among the eight friends and acquaintances who gathered at Civic Center Residence for his memorial. The native San Franciscan, 6 feet tall, always smartly dressed, died of lung cancer at Laguna Honda Hospital at age 56. His trademark black hat was hanging from the wall at the head of his bed. His estranged daughter had visited him the night before.
Donald Beard, who said he met Burise when he was 14, told how he got his nickname. Glen so wanted to be like his late brother, Fred, a colorful and well-known player in the heyday of the Fillmore jazz scene. But the younger brother couldn’t quite pull it off, Beard said, and got called “Hollywood” for his efforts.
Burise moved into a fifth-floor unit in the 200-room residence a year ago. He was quiet and dignified and spoke like he had some education. He avoided petty fighting among the residents and brandished an occasional smirk to punctuate conversations. Over recent months, according to friends, he was in and out of the hospital, lost 40 pounds and had to wear white support stockings and blue hospital slippers down to the dining room, never complaining about his pain, deterioration or lost image.
He had another dimension, too.
“He expected you to look at him and see him, even in a crowd,” said Carlita Barry. “Here, where he lived a reduced life, he continued to be himself. He didn’t dissolve or disappear. And it was refreshing to see.”
CANDLE AND A PRAYER
ANTHONY SHELTON A short life, much of it lived on the streets, ended for Anthony Shelton when he died of complications from AIDS. He was 40.
Shelton had lived at the Franciscan Towers for six months in the Shelter Plus Care program. His memorial, marked by a small vase of roses and a candle on a table off the lobby, was attended only by the hotel’s social worker and Rev. Glenda Hope, who offered a short prayer.
Acknowledgments
Huge thanks to Sarah Hanley, who is a breathtakingly talented writer and amazing cover designer. In that vein, this book is a million times better after editing from my brilliant pals, Sam Bohrman and Cristina Pippa at Manufixed.
In addition, I’m incredibly grateful for early reads, proofing, and feedback from Erin Alford, Sharon Long, Beverlee Smith, Emmy McCabe, Taloo Carrillo, Iris Brossard, Emily Goehner, John Bychowski, Mimi Ryan, MaryAnn Forbes, Doug Cronk, Liz Cronk, Mikki Ashe, Christine Green, and Karen Hilleman.
As always, my husband, my biggest champion, makes all this possible.
In addition, I must say I have the BEST writer friends. When it comes to encouragement and providing indefatigable support, I am incredibly grateful to Claire Booth, Nancy Allen, Amy Baldwin, Kaethe Schwehn, Sarah Hanley, Kate Schultz, Owen Laukkanen, and Beth Neal.
Thank you!
ALSO BY KRISTI BELCAMINO
GIA IN THE CITY OF THE DEAD
Book one in the Gia Santella Crime Thriller Series
A ruthless killer is hunting down everyone she loves ... one by one ... until only Gia is left ...
Kicking off a new series by the Anthony, Barry & Macavity finalist and crime writer ...
Gia Santella is a fast-driving, hard-drinking, karate-trained free spirit, who is gorgeous, sexy, and a young heiress. She is living a life without thought for tomorrow until suddenly a letter appears in the mail and everything changes ...
When Gia Valentina Santella’s parents died four years ago, she fled small town Monterey to pursue the high life in the big city where she could smother her grief by playing house in a luxurious high-rise apartment with sweeping views of the Golden Gate Bridge.
Armed with a hefty inheritance, it didn’t take long for Gia to carve out an empty life for herself in San Francisco, slumming at art school, racing her red Ferrari up and down the coast, and getting hammered at the city’s finest establishments.
Then one day, a letter comes in the mail and everything changes. The death of Gia’s parents was no accident.
They were murdered.
Now, Gia must find who really killed her parents at the same time she’s frantically trying to keep one step ahead of the murderer who is now intent on making her his next victim.
An unforgettable and exciting new series full of grit and heart all packed into an edge-of-your-seat suspense thriller. Gia and the City of the Dead is perfect for fans of Marvel’s Jessica Jones, Jackie Collins’ Lucky Santangelo and Game of Thrones’, Daenerys Targaryen.
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The Gabriella Giovanni Series
Nominated for a Macavity Award for Best First Mystery Novel and an Anthony Award for Best First Novel, BLESSED ARE THE DEAD, the first book in the Gabriella Giovanni Mystery Series, was inspired by Kristi Belcamino's dealings on the crime beat with a serial killer.
BLESSED ARE THE DEAD
To catch a killer, one reporter must risk it all ...
San Francisco Bay Area newspaper repo
rter Gabriella Giovanni spends her days on the crime beat, flitting in and out of other people's nightmares, yet walking away unscathed. When a little girl disappears on the way to the school bus stop, her quest for justice and a front-page story leads her to a convicted kidnapper, Jack Dean Johnson, who reels her in with promises to reveal his exploits as a serial killer. But Gabriella's passion for her job quickly spirals into obsession when she begins to suspect the kidnapper may have ties to her own dark past: her sister's murder. Risking her life, her job, and everything she holds dear, Gabriella embarks on a quest to find answers and stop a deranged murderer before he strikes again. Perfect for fans of Sue Grafton and Laura Lippman's Tess Monaghan series!
BLESSED ARE THE MEEK
A rash of high-profile murders all point to Giovanni's boyfriend, Detective Sean Donovan, when investigators uncover a single link in the deaths: Annalisa Cruz. A decade ago, Cruz seduced Donovan away from a life as a monk, and though their relationship soured long ago ... her passion for him has not.
As the investigation continues, it becomes increasingly clear that any man who gets involved with Cruz soon ends up dead, including a dot-com millionaire, the mayor of San Francisco, and a police officer. Donovan, the only man to have dated Cruz and survived, is arrested for the murders and dubbed a jealous ex, leaving Gabriella scrambling to find the real killer without ending up as the next body headed for the morgue.
Gabriella's search ultimately unearths a dark secret that Donovan had intended to take to the grave. Faced with the knowledge of this terrible truth, Gabriella must tie the past and present together to clear Donovan's name.
Gia and the Forgotten Island (Gia Santella Crime Thriller Book 2) Page 17
