Below: The San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge.   John Lange, 1999.

   The Golden Gate Bridge is a glorious symbol of beauty, hope and civilization. I was born in San Francisco, and in my innermost being, I've never left. The City By the Bay has changed, it's true, but for me, it will always be the hub, center of the spinning wheel where culture, innovation, courtesy, and class meet education and scientific endeavor.  And in my vision, the City will always be surrounded by the serene agricultural landscape that graced my childhood:  myriads of apricot orchards spread out before our eyes like a Grandma Moses painting, where Silicon Valley now announces itself; Gravenstein apples carried along by rail, where highways leading to Sonoma and Santa Rosa now shuttle tons of shiny metal cars, and the graceful lifestyle that has silently slipped away: dressing up with white gloves and hats to take the train to Hillsborough to shop; ballroom dancing classes as a requirement, going out to eat as a rare and unique experience.  Commensurate with these idyllic memories are the institutions so unique to our area: Stanford University, Berkeley, and the many charitable and community based institutions that grew, organically, out of the curiosity, zeal, and love of life that so many Bay Area residents knew, and extended with open arms to those around them. I cherish this life, this history, and hold it in my memory as a thing of beauty, and a joy forever.

Our understanding, our selves, are steeped in the past we've known. Some of us must rise above our pasts; others have known an idyllic, halcyon existence, wherein the blessings of life were bestowed upon us, unbeknownst.  This was the gift given to me: to know a place, era, and people who were exceptional, and whose time would soon pass, amidst the plethora of voices that now ring--no, they clang in our ears, proclaiming the postmodern era as all that is left to us. But those of us who remember when we walked among orchards, climbed trees, followed streams through wandering ravines, and knew the meaning of silence, wait for the return--the revivification of civilized thought--that will draw us to our roots, which somehow disappeared at the same time that our beautiful surroundings were taken from us--symbolic of the cultural richness we lost when we offered up our souls to the material gods who lay in wait for us.