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Saturday, 18 November 2006 |
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The Montgomery Block one month
after the Earthquake and Fire of 1906.
The Bank Exchange sits
behind locked iron doors at the corner. A.P. Giannini's Bank of
Italy, which was to change its name to the Bank of America and
eventually become the world's largest, then occupied offices to
the right.
The following comes to us from the
Transamerica Corporation and the California Historical
Society, from a booklet originally entitled
"Secrets of Pisco
Punch Revealed: Being a true account of the recovery of San
Francisco's Long Lost Favorite of Favorites," by William
Bronson.
In the post Gold Rush days, a bar was a
very important place.
And the Bank Exchange was one of the most
important drinking establishments in San
Francisco. Located in the Montgomery and Washington Streets
corner of the famed Montgomery Block, the Bank Exchange was
the place leading bankers met to transact business in the
absence of an official stock exchange. Its proximity to the
waterfront attracted the leaders of commerce, and from the
first day the Bank Exchange’s swinging doors opened in
1853, the leading sea captains, miners, lawyers and
politicians came to discuss affairs of the day,
while partaking of liquid refreshments.
No history of the social life of San
Francisco would be complete without mention of the Bank
Exchange, a barroom that opened in 1854, survived the
Earthquake and Fire of 1906, and continued to thrive with
everwidening fame until its doors were closed forever
by Prohibition.
The principal foundation for its renown
was Pisco Punch, a mixture which, it was said, went down like
nectar and came back with the kick of a Missouri mule. Another
description is credited to Oliver Perry Stidger who for many
years managed the affairs of the Montgomery Block, that fabled
building in which the Bank Exchange was located. He likened
Pisco Punch to the scimitar of Harroun whose edge was so fine
that after a slash a man walked on unaware that his head had
been severed from his body until his knees gave way and
he fell to the ground dead.
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Thursday, 21 September 2006 |
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The Cool Grey City of Love—1950
(another excerpt from my next book)
I met Shell Cooper in 1975.
Shell,
old and shrinking, but still sharp, tended bar at the Pickwick Hotel
right near the Examiner, where I had a job that required me to work for
about an hour and a half a day, allowing me plenty of time to ponder
the great issues of our time in numerous local watering holes.
A dream job.
The earnest and ambitious do-gooders, the wanna-be Woodward and
Bernsteins of the world, had yet to flood out of their journalism
schools and ruin the newspaper game for good, kissing MBA ass in the
editorial suites. Another thing we can thank Nixon for.
Shell tended bar for a time at the Pickwick Hotel across the way from
the paper at 5th and Mission. A really nice guy. We would chat. He
asked, after a time, me where I worked. I told him the Examiner. He
asked me to find a picture in the Ex's library from a time when the SF
Board of Supes was trying to shut him down for having dancing and loud
music in his saloon.
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Wednesday, 13 September 2006 |
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Jimmie was always shaking someone down. If they didn't pay
up, he smeared them. Here is a great piece, representative of his work
and writing at its best.
Errol Flynn
Friday, December 10, 1948
Jimmie T. was by now firmly ensconsed in San Francisco, but he could
not resist making accusations against rivals in Hollywood. A shakedown
artist supreme, he knew how to hint what he might be able to prove in
print unless he received shakedown shekels ... and he could not have
taken on Louis B. Mayer without either (a) friends or (b) some serious
dirt.
There is always serious dirt in Hollywood.
This week the entire nation received a series of shocking news
headlines directly concerning Hollywood stars, producers, etc. As often
as you picked up a newspaper or listened to a radio, a Hollywood figure
was involved in some disgraceful escapade. We'll give them to you one
by one.
As I've often warned, too many Hollywood personalities are involved in
dope, sex perversions and vile "affairs." The dope situation in itself,
just to render a meager report, has again taken a turn in the right
direction. This I am happy to admit. After all, our object has been to
reduce spreading of this disease.
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Wednesday, 13 September 2006 |
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 An old-time newspaperman once told me that Jimmie Tarantino (pictured at left)
had offered the edition of Hollywood Nightlife magazine containing the
damning criminal record of Freddie Francisco, then the most powerful
columnist in Northern California, to Bill Wren, editor of the Examiner,
for $10,000, while a truck idled outside in the street, loaded with the
entire press run. Wren declined. Freddie's past became a national
story, and he had to leave the paper in disgrace. Freddie would return,
as Bob Patterson, to the paper a couple decades later, creating new
adventures for his editors and readers.
Freddie Francisco - Embezzler—Thief!!
BY JIMMIE TARANTINO
Friday, January 21, 1949
This is the story of Freddie Francisco, featured columnist
for the San Francisco Examiner, a faithful employee of William Randolph
Hearst Columnist Francisco is also a personal friend of Louis B. Mayer
andseveral other motion picture bigwigs who attempted use of Francisco's
column and connections to harm the Hollywood Nite Life magazine and this column.
This
column has told you many times that because of our anti-dope campaign
various means and persons have been influenced to react against me.
Fortunately, to date, this column has been able to nip these events in
the bud. At this time, this columnist is taking time to expose a few
columnists who have been turned against me.
At a later date, I
will reveal the lives of two different female columnists and their
"backgrounds." Data for this expose is being brought in at regular
intervals. These moves are being made to teach other columnists not to
attempt twarthing me if they don't choose to join me in my campaigns.
This columnist does not mind if other columnists refuse to side with
me, but I DO NOT CARE TO TRIP OVER BIG FEET.
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Frisco 
