One by Fours

  The intersection of Mission and Eleventh Streets in San Francisco was one of the most heavily trafficked anywhere on the Peninsula. Since the city’s streets are a hodge-podge anyway, laid out on steep hills, following old wagon trails, and loaded with confusing signs, there were no good options.

Probably the most challenging traffic of all took place around the clock at the confluence of Mission and Eleventh. It was like the onset of winter: you don't like it, but you can't do much about it. Sometimes you just have to put up with it.

Besides the natural inconvenience of too many vehicles milling through too little space, the street surfaces were outdated, uneven, too narrow, and clogged with a mishmash of businesses. Even as a child, I recognized that I would mostly be better off somewhere else.

But places are busy exactly because people have to use them.

 On one occasion I had to go from Palo Alto to a business on Market Street a distance from this ugly intersection. No alternative to crossing Mission at Eleventh was available. I shrugged and drove.

The day went well until, after passing San Francisco General Hospital, the string of “middleman” businesses meant vehicles popping out from driveways into traffic – pickups, heavy trucks, salesmen, delivery vehicles, and foot traffic, none of whom seemed to sense that they weren't alone in the city. 

I spent as much time tapping the brake as the gas pedal. I was glad I'd allowed plenty of time to reach my appointment...except that I hadn't.

As the cross traffic at Mission Street came into view, a big straddle-type lumber truck left a lumber yard and took over the spot ahead of me. It was holding enough one-by-fours to provide backing for plaster walls for an entire home. Now I could see nothing beyond the lumber. 

Why the driver had to hit the brakes suddenly and hard I never learned, but jam them on he did: hard and suddenly. The vehicle stopped so suddenly that I also had to slam on my own brakes. Only I was lucky, lucky because everything on my vehicle stayed on my vehicle.

Not so the truck's load. My view was no longer blocked. I could see Mission Street ahead through the straddler, as the load of one-by-fours was now decorating Eleventh for a considerable distance, nearly to Mission.

Naturally, the car behind me honked, as did several other vehicles. The Great American Problem Solver is to honk for any inconvenience. Oncoming traffic across the street stopped. In seconds the street just south of Mission and Eleventh resembled Times Square on New Year's Eve. Pedestrians were leaving shops, others exited parked cars. Most of them were laughing.

 Promptly, several were picking up loose one-by-fours. A few put the lumber on the sidewalk. A few tried to return them to the straddle truck, although they could not figure out where that should be. Some simply walked off with trophies.

I could see that I would be there until the straddle truck could move, as no one was able to go around it. So, I began picking up, too. The straddle driver was busy thanking helpers as he furiously handled wood. My guess is that perhaps most of the one-by-fours eventually got back onto the truck pallet.

When the truck could get to a driveway, I could finally proceed. At last I reached my appointment, definitely late. The secretary smiled.

“You were in 'the mess,' I bet,” she said. “We could hear the honking clear over here. Was it really bad?”

“Well,” I said. “It was this bad.” I showed her my splinter filled hands.

Today that strip is beneath a section of freeway, where cars now speed across Mission and Market to the Golden Gate Bridge, the Bay Bridge, the City Hall, the city's downtown, the Park, and my old neighborhood. Dodging one-by-fours is passé.