Homeless crises are nothing new in Sacramento. The first one happened in August 1850, when outrageous real estate prices caused people to camp on land that didn’t belong to them.
Everybody had guns in 1850. The guns went off when city officials tried to clear camps around Fourth and J streets and Tahoe Park. Five people died and six were wounded before things calmed down.
Pity the pedestrian, lowest creature on Sacramento’s evolutionary ladder. Cars are king. Bicycles come next. Then homeless people, who have more agency than a resident who wants to take a walk.
I learned this by accident, never thinking it was true until I realized there’s no other explanation.
Pedestrians need to face facts. The city has no love for us.
I made this discovery while researching a column last month about my friend who stands his ground when bicycles barrel toward him on city sidewalks.
My friend has a habit that makes me proud to know him and fear for his safety. On the sidewalks of Midtown and Downtown, he stands his ground when a bicycle barrels toward him.
His courage should inspire all pedestrians. He earns dirty looks and obscenities from sidewalk cyclists, but so far no broken bones or concussions. He’s never been hit.
My friend doesn’t yell at sidewalk cyclists. He says, “Hey, this is a sidewalk.”
Kevin McCarty had a good first year as mayor. I say this with confidence because McCarty didn’t spend the last 12 months telling everyone how great he’s doing.
By not broadcasting his every step and promoting alleged accomplishments, McCarty shattered a City Hall tradition.
The last two mayors, Kevin Johnson and Darrell Steinberg, spent much of their time at City Hall inundating residents with mayoral visions, goals and presumptive victories.
They held countless press conferences and updates about programs and policies to heighten the city’s (and their own) status.
In my family, only one person likes Old Sacramento. That’s me. I enjoy the wooden sidewalks, wrought iron balconies, tourist traps, train sheds and steamboat docks.
My feelings for Old Sac are nostalgic. I’m the only one in the family old enough to remember what Front and Second streets looked like six decades ago.
In those days, Old Sac was the West End. Residents were derelicts, bums, drifters, tramps, winos. They loafed in the shade, weary from picking fruit, drunk.
I looked for Randy Paragary in an alley behind the Sheraton Grand Hotel and found Cesar Chavez. At least I think it was Cesar Chavez. It resembled him, though someone painted the name “Randy Paragary” under the mural.
Mistaken identity happens everywhere. Police lineups and courtrooms are notorious for confusing who was present when the gun went off. Some witnesses blame poor lighting. Or poor eyesight.
Which doesn’t mean I expect street murals to be precise representations of the people they wish to honor. A painting on the side of a building isn’t John Singer Sargent mixing bone black and lead white to produce skin tones for “Portrait of Madame X.”
