Gathering And Memory

I lined up Wednesday under a beautiful blue sky to pay my respects to Senator Dianne Feinstein as she lay in state at San Francisco City Hall. I didn’t know her, I had no personal connection to her or her family. It seemed indulgent and a bit self-centered to participate — who was I doing this for? What compelled me to log off and walk from my apartment to the Beaux-Arts building that houses the absolute mania that is the politics of this city I now call home so that I could line up for an hour to walk past a flag-draped casket for a moment? Why was I drawn to participate?

I’m not going to go through Sen. Feinstein’s accomplishments and controversies, there are far more talented political observers who can hash that out for us. I found the end of the line on early Wednesday evening, a chain of politely-cued people wrapped around two sides of a two-city-block building, alongside so many people who showed to merely be present, and how so many of the lined-up mourners were women or gay men.

Conversation was quiet but engaged as new friends by proximity shared stories of why they were there that day — I even had one lovely woman step out of line briefly to compliment me on what I was wearing. Naturally, I started chatting with the women in front of me. She told me that she teaches ESL and local history a college nearby, and that one of the courses she loves to share with her students is on local SF history. “We talk about Senator Feinstein in nearly every section of the curriculum,” she said, “and when I passed City Hall on the bus this morning and saw the line, I knew I wanted to join and pay my respects.”

We then started discussing ‘Season of the Witch’, a book on the tumultuous period of history that Sen. Feinstein began her political career in. Ours is a messy, often-infuriating city, one steeped in the sometimes volatile and tragic history of this 7x7, and built by the legacies of those who fiercely care for it, despite its foibles. She started her career just as that “season” began.

As the line snaked around the sidewalk, with the last rays of a heatwave sun filtering next to the matching columns of the Herbst theater, locals would stop and ask what we were lined up for. My new friend told them gently that we were waiting to pay our respects to Senator Feinstein — some just nodded and walked away, and some decided to join the line themselves

Once inside, grateful for a respite from the heat amongst cold marble and air conditioning, we inched towards the rotunda after passing security. And just as I entered the stately space, a crowded of black suits and mourning attire filled the atrium above as the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus filled the stairs and began to sing. The sound bounced off the walls and saturated our ears — it was all-encompassing.

And as I stepped in front of the coffin for my chance to say goodbye, I looked up to see both Speaker Pelosi and Mayor London Breed standing on the other side, a picture of both the fellow trailblazers Feinstein served with and the new generation of politicians she and they all inspired. The very politicians that are now fighting the backlash against the equality their political foremothers fought hard to try to achieve.

I lined up for them and for me and for my friends’ kids. I lined up to be there, to mark the observation, to show my love for SF.

We gather to remember because, hopefully, someday people will gather to remember us. Because, hopefully, we’ll someday live a life worth remembering.

I signed the guestbook and stepped back into the SF evening, walking back through Hayes Valley amongst commuters and dog walkers and families and students, through much-maligned streets in a much-more-beloved city.

May her memory be a blessing.