By Daniela Blei
For 13 years, I’ve lived in the shadow of Dolores Park, basking in its sunny splendor. The views! The picnics! The people!
I remember my first spring in San Francisco, watching the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence take the stage. Surrounded by families young and old, sitting in a sea of smiling faces, I thought to myself, “This is a magical place.” It was a microcosm of nearby communities and neighborhoods: stroller-pushing mamas from Noe Valley, residents of the Castro, Latino Mission kids and, yes, the hipster and tech set. They all called Dolores Park home and respected it as a shared public space.
At the park you could do whatever you wanted, free of ridicule or legal reproach. Shed some clothing, crack a beer, or bring your didgeridoo. It was a hippie hater’s worst nightmare: loved-up San Franciscans, their barefoot kids and dogs running wild, and legions of hula-hoopers straddling the grass, some wearing flowers in their hair.
More than a decade later, the landscape hasn’t changed much, besides the park renovation. But Dolores Park is a decidedly different place. Today it’s a litter box for the city — or, to be more precise, where the litterers of our city come to play, leaving mountains of trash in their wake.
One Sunday a few months ago, I took my dog for an early-morning stroll. Little did I know that someone had strewn edible baked goods, or at least the crumbs, around the benches near the intersection of 20th and Church. An hour later I was rushing my dog, suddenly paralyzed and incontinent, to the emergency vet. The doctor identified the problem immediately: “Your dog ingested marijuana, which can be pretty serious. We keep seeing these cases because of our proximity to Dolores Park.” After racking up more than a thousand dollars in vet bills, my dog is no longer running free in the park on weekends or Monday mornings, even though we’re just a stone’s throw away.
“Your dog ingested marijuana, which can be pretty serious. We keep seeing these cases because of our proximity to Dolores Park.”
Now I bring my kid, at some cruel morning hour, to burn up toddler energy on the playground. I’ve made a game out of identifying the previous afternoon’s detritus: how many Lagunitas bottle caps do I spy with my little eye? How many champagne cork holders can we see on our walk to the slide? Let’s count the pizza boxes over there in the mud! Look, someone forgot their sandwich! (Who abandons a Bi-Rite sandwich?!) Once, in the bushes near the entrance to the playground, we spotted a chocolate cake, piled high with neon frosting, that could easily have fed a party of 12. Instead, a posse of rats was having a feast.
Every morning by 7:00, the first responders from the San Francisco Recreation & Parks Department arrive on the scene to do the heroic work of cleaning up entitlement. (Someone else will take care of it!) Last weekend, I spoke to the Saturday crew. They described some of the changes they’ve witnessed in recent years. “It used to be all beer cans. Now it’s wine and champagne bottles,” they explained. For city workers, that’s a problem because Recology SF pays to pick up beer bottles, but Rec & Parks has to haul away other types of glass, like the empty magnum of Veuve Clicquot that caught my eye that morning. Add to the glut of bottles a sheer explosion in trash — everything from plastic plates to oyster shells scattered across the grass— and Dolores Park begins to look like a wasteland of privilege.
Our city has earned its bragging rights for being on track to reach zero waste in 2020. Despite this amazing accomplishment, the sad truth is that some residents and visitors are turning a beloved green space into a landfill. I don’t know if ruining Dolores Park is a Millennial thing or a tech-boom thing, but I am sure that the magic is fading fast. Neighbors are now demanding a stronger police presence. The Facebook group “Dolores Park Sadness,” where members rant and post pictures, chronicles public urination by park-goers and piles of litter that grow like Everest in the grass on a hot afternoon.
For city workers, wine and champagne bottles are a problem because Recology SF pays to pick up beer bottles, but Rec & Parks has to haul away other types of glass.
In case you forgot, San Francisco is crowded, ranked second in the country in urban density and trailing only New York City. This makes our parks extra special. Many of us would happily trade a backyard for shared spaces where the beauty and spirit of the city are on full display. At Dolores Park, the people-watching is first-rate, and the vistas are glorious. The park is for everyone: children, grandparents, teenage lovers, musicians, sunbathers, birthday partiers and the homeless. It’s hard to imagine a place that captures so perfectly all that a public park can do.
This city is always reinventing itself. Dolores Park was once home to a tribal village, a Jewish cemetery and a refugee camp for locals displaced by the 1906 earthquake. Today, the park is still a reflection of our communities and cultures. But it has become a symbol of San Francisco’s affluence and — I hate to say it — entitlement.
We are lucky to have Dolores Park, but we’re not entitled to it. So let’s treat the place with civility and respect. Here’s how to help stop the park from becoming a wasteland:
If you’re planning to picnic, bring bags for garbage disposal. Before leaving the park, place your bag next to the toters — those plastic black and blue bins that line your street once a week. The amazing workers from Rec & Parks will do the rest.
Join a volunteer cleanup event. There are several—some organized by local merchants, like Bi-Rite, others by Dolores Park Works and SF Rec & Parks. Check out www.doloresparkworks.org and www.sfrecpark.org for more information.
If all else fails, at least call out the litterbugs when you see them. The only way to change the status quo is to create a better one.
Photo by Joe Christensen/Thinkstock
