The Native Son | Page 8

the gayest and with the
exception of none, the happiest city in the world; a city of extraordinary
picturesqueness of situation and an equally notable cosmopolitanism of
atmosphere; a city which is, above all cities, a paradise for men.
San Francisco, which invents much American slang, must have
provided that phrase - "this man's town." For that is what San Francisco
is - a mans town.
I dare not appeal to Easterners; but Californiacs, I ask you how could I
forbear to say something about "the city"?
San Francisco, or "the city"', as Californians so proudly and lovingly
term her, is peculiarly fortunate in her situation and her weather. Riding
a series of hills as lightly as a ship the waves, she makes real exercise
of any walking within her limits. Moreover the streets are tied so
intimately and inextricably to seashore and country that San Francisco's
life is, in one sense, less like city life than that of any other city in the
United States. Yet by the curious paradox of her climate, which
compels much indoor night entertainment, reinforced by that
cosmopolitanism of atmosphere, life there is city life raised to the
highest limit. Last of all, its size - and personally I think there should be

a federal law forbidding cities to grow any bigger than San Francisco -
makes it an engaging combination of provincialism and
cosmopolitanism.
Not scenery this time, Reader, nor climate, but weather. Like scenery
and climate, it must be done. Hurdle this paragraph, Easterners! Keep
on reading, Californiacs!
The "city" does its best to put the San Franciscan in good condition.
And the weather reinforces this effort by keeping him out of doors.
Because of a happy collaboration of land with sea, the region about San
Francisco, the "bay" region - individual in this as in everything else -
has a climate of its own. It is, notwithstanding its brief rainy season, a
singularly pleasant climate. It cannot be described as "temperate" in the
sense, for instance, that New England's climate is temperate. That is too
harsh. Neither can it be described as "semi-tropical" in the way that
Hawaii, for example, is semi-tropical. That is too soft. It combines the
advantages of both with the disabilities of neither.
You may begin to read again, Easterners; for at last I've returned to the
Native Son.
That sparkling briskness - the tang - which is the best the temperate
climate has to offer, gives the Native Son his high powered strenuosity.
That developing softness - lush - (every Native Son will admit the lush)
which is the best the semi-tropical element has to contribute, gives him
his size and comeliness. The weather of San Francisco keeps the Native
Son out of doors whenever it is possible through the day time. To take
care of this flight into the open are seashore and mountain, city parks
and country roads. That same weather drives him indoors during the
evenings. And to meet this demand are hotels, restaurants, theatres,
moving-picture houses, in numbers out of all proportion to the
population. Again, the weather permits him to play baseball and
football for unusual periods with ease, to play tennis and golf
three-quarters of the year with comfort, to walk and swim all the year
with joy. Notwithstanding the combination of heavy rains with startling
hill heights, he never ceases to motor day or night, winter or summer.
The weather not only allows this, but the climate drives him to it.

These are the reasons why there is nothing hectic about the hordes of
Native Sons who nightly motor about San Francisco, who fill its
theatres and restaurants. An after-theatre group in San Francisco is as
different from the tallowy, gas-bred, after-theatre groups on Broadway
as it is possible to imagine. In San Francisco, many of them look as
though they had just come from State-long motor trips; from camping
expeditions on the beach, among the redwoods, or in the desert; from
long, cold Arctic cruises, or long, hot Pacific ones. Moreover the
Native Son's club encourages all this athletic instinct by offering
spacious and beautiful gymnasium quarters in which to develop it.
Lacking a club, he can turn to the public baths, surely the biggest and
most beautiful in the world.
Just as there is a different physical aspect to the Native Son, there is,
compared to the rest of the country, a different social aspect to him.
California is still young, still pioneer in outlook. Society has not yet
shaken down into those tightly stratified layers, typical of the East.
There is a real spirit of democracy in the air.
The first time I visited San Francisco I was impressed with the remarks
of a Native son of moderate salary who had traveled much in the East.
"This here