OMINOUS MOOD SWING IN HAIGHT: THIS IS NOT THE SUMMER OF LOVE

"Vibes' still draw the kids but attacks, drugs fuel locals'
fear

All is not lovey-dovey on Haight Street.

The Summer of Love is now the summer of discontent.

The rebels and the followers, the drifters and the grifters, the
potheads and the Deadheads, the dreamers and the losers are still
hanging out on the street, just as they did decades ago, when
Haight-Ashbury was a symbol of '60s counter-culture, a mecca for
disconnected youth and gawking tourists.

Back then, it was long-haired hippies with love beads against their
tie-dyed shirts and flowers in their hair. These days, it's mostly
gutter punks with studded jackets and studded tongues.

But more than the faces and outfits have changed. So have
attitudes.

To many merchants and residents, the famous Haight-Ashbury scene is
getting old.

"We have had it," said Uti Kaupp, 50, owner of Piedmont Boutique, a
costume shop for dancers and performers, who has lived and worked on
Haight Street since 1981. "People can't walk down the streets anymore
. . The neighborhood people are crying for help."

This week came the last straw. Four young African Americans and a baby
were attacked by a group of about a dozen young white men, police
said. At least one white man reportedly yelled racial epithets. He's
been arrested and charged with a hate crime.

The notion of a hate crime in the Haight, where the ideals of love,
peace and brotherhood put the neighborhood on the map, has freaked out
many of the grown-ups with jobs and homes. To them, the incident
further proves that Haight Street is falling apart.

Signs in many storefronts Thursday pronounced, "The Haight Says No to
Hate." The Anti-Defamation League has called for a community forum on
hate in the Haight to be held next week.

Park refugees

" "Take back the street,' " said Marc Slayton, 19, homeless for two
months, reading one of the signs. "What do they mean?"

"They mean us," Mike Hunt, 26, said glumly.

In the past year or two, residents and shopkeepers say, Haight Street
has become overrun with young vagabonds, runaways, panhandlers and
drug dealers.

In recent months, with the closing of nearby Golden Gate Park to
homeless encampments, the situation seems to have gotten worse, with
many of the kids who used to live in the park spilling onto Haight
Street.

They sprawl on curbs and corners. They block doors and window
displays. Many, with greasy hair and dirty fingernails, look like they
haven't showered in days, if that. Some admit that they urinate and
even defecate on the street.

Every other kid seems to own a dog. Many of the dogs are pit
bulls.

To many of the baby boomers who have been snapping up the
neighborhood's Victorians and Edwardians at $600,000 a flat and
$1million-plus a house, the scene is a bad trip. Many said they don't
shop on Haight Street, just to avoid the hassle.

"Get out of my face' attitude

"It's gotten dirtier, it's gotten scummier," said Duane Helmer, 40,
who moved to the neighborhood two years ago and refuses to take his
10-year-old son to Haight Street anymore. "There's more people with an
attitude of "This is my sidewalk. Get out of my face.' "

Merchants claim that fewer neighborhood residents in their shops has
led to a decline in business. The past year has seen the closing of
the street's only bank, pharmacy and copy center.

Sam Khuri, 34, owner of the Blue Front Cafe off Masonic Street, said

sales at his restaurant are off 35 percent.

"Nobody from the neighborhood hangs out on Haight Street anymore," he
said.

The tourist trade also seems down, said Khuri.

"People want to come to see the hippies," he said, "not the
bums."

The seeming prevalance of drugs is a big turn-off. Walk down any block
along Haight Street and the chant of "Need any buds?" follows. One
Deadhead named Michael, 24, said he makes $200 a day selling pot on
the street.

Just call Roto-Rooter

Heroin and speed are also big sellers, kids said. Twice a month, Khuri
said, he must call a plumbing service because needles are clogging the
sink and toilet of his restaurant's public bathroom.

"Roto-Rooter, I'm telling you," said Khuri, "is doing good business on
Haight Street."

Residents and merchants are divided about what to do.

One community group, the Haight Ashbury Neighborhood Coalition,
believes there should be more detox and counseling for the kids to get
them off the street.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, RAD, formerly Residents Against
Druggies, wants a police crackdown to keep kids from loitering and
selling drugs. The group has patrols that walk the neighborhood to
intimidate drug dealers. The patrols carry radios to communicate with
police.

Even though many residents and merchants complain about the street
scene, many stores capitalize on the memory of the psychedelic '60s.

Head shops, vintage clothing stores and tie-dyed shirt places abound.
Gift shops sell everything from mushroom-shaped rainbow candles to
troll dolls wearing necklaces with peace signs. Even Roberts Hardware
has lava lamps in the window.

The past attracts

The kids who call the street home said the mystique of the Haight
Street of yesteryear, mirrored in these shop windows, is part of the
attraction for them.

"It's the past that draws them here," said Jason Metz, 22, who grew up
in the Haight and spent some time on the street.

"I came to experience the vibes here," said Hunt, who left Chicago two
months ago. "I heard it was good people, where nobody was judged,
where everybody gets along."

Many of the kids said they never felt they fit in until they came to
Haight Street.

Darkstar and Eleana Grey, both 19, married after meeting in Santa Cruz
three months ago. Eleana, who said she is learning to be submissive,
wears a dog collar attached to a chain leash carried by her husband.

The chain shows that they're attached. But it was not until they came
to Haight Street that they felt connected to a family. Now they are a
part of the Fallen Angel Society, a group of kids who hang out
together, wear all black and call themselves Goths.

The sense of connection makes it hard to leave.

"There's a curse on the Haight," said Sandman, 26, a fellow Fallen
Angel who arrived from Olympia, Wash., four months ago. "Once you come
here, you always come back."

1998 San Francisco Examiner

Checked-by: (trikydik)