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9781587904332

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FOREWORD San Francisco is pretty classy these days, shops selling caviar in the Ferry Building, upscale restaurants on the waterfront, bars that offer three kinds of martinis. Richard Perri remembers a different San Francisco, a place where the waterfront was full of working men, tough guys, whose idea of an evening cocktail was a shot and a beer after work. The city--and the waterfront in particular--was full of small coffee joints, where the coffee was strong and black and a cheeseburger was haute cuisine. A different city, Perri remembers, easy to get around, tough to dislike. Parts of the waterfront were shabby and run down and you had to be careful at night, watch your step. It could be rough, but it was as real as a ten cent baloney sandwich. Perri started painting this San Francisco just before it vanished. He hung out in places where you washed down a hamburger with a Budweiser, and the literary life consisted of reading the Sporting Green. He visited junk yards full of old streetcars, and streets lined with rusty railroad tracks. The city was changing and everybody knew it. The ships were going to Oakland, and along with them the old warehouses, the drayage companies, and the men who worked there. So he painted this world. This book is a sampling of what he saw. San Francisco only yesterday. --- Carl Nolte San Francisco Chronicle Staff Writer

FOREWORD San Francisco is pretty classy these days, shops selling caviar in the Ferry Building, upscale restaurants on the waterfront, bars that offer three kinds of martinis. Richard Perri remembers a different San Francisco, a place where the waterfront was full of working men, tough guys, whose idea of an evening cocktail was a shot and a beer after work. The city--and the waterfront in particular--was full of small coffee joints, where the coffee was strong and black and a cheeseburger was haute cuisine. A different city, Perri remembers, easy to get around, tough to dislike. Parts of the waterfront were shabby and run down and you had to be careful at night, watch your step. It could be rough, but it was as real as a ten cent baloney sandwich. Perri started painting this San Francisco just before it vanished. He hung out in places where you washed down a hamburger with a Budweiser, and the literary life consisted of reading the Sporting Green. He visited junk yards full of old streetcars, and streets lined with rusty railroad tracks. The city was changing and everybody knew it. The ships were going to Oakland, and along with them the old warehouses, the drayage companies, and the men who worked there. So he painted this world. This book is a sampling of what he saw. San Francisco only yesterday. --- Carl Nolte San Francisco Chronicle Staff Writer

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Richard Louis Perri was born in Rockville Centre, New York in 1944. He attended the College of Santa Fe, Arizona State University (BA), and the San Francisco Art Institute.

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