ASIDE FROM BEING A FERRY TERMINAL, SAN FRANCISCO’S FERRY BUILDING at the base of Market Street is a food emporium that showcases northern California’s busy organic farms. On weekends in the parking lot, there’s an organic produce, meat and flower market of regionally raised and prepared food.
Miss Jo doesn’t get by the Ferry Building much since she now lives in the City’s south, in a neighborhood called Glen Park. But in April 2005 after moving to SF, the Ferry Building became a town square and daily destination where Miss Jo, her mom and Jeff walked from their furnished two-bedroom rental in a building dramatically located under the Bay Bridge.
The apartment had views of cargo ships from the Far East inching toward the Port of Oakland, past SF’s historic Phoenix fire boat berthed along the Embarcadero. The Phoenix gets credit for saving the Marina district in 1989 from catastrophic fire when hydrants failed after the Loma Prieta earthquake. The Phoenix was also appropriately named for Miss Jo’s familia’s San Francisco reinvention and from time to time would strut its stuff with giant plumes of spray, to the delight of Miss Jo’s mom, mesmerized for hours by the busy bay view with her cat, Rudy, on her lap
The bay side apartment turned out to be the perfect temporary haven that Miss Jo and Jeff had sought, on their improbable move from Washington, D.C., in search of a fresh start from their mid-career lives. Indeed, they had arrived in a special place. Everything was different, except one major exception: the need to ensure constant care of Miss Jo’s mom, June, an octogenarian with Alzheimer’s.
The honeymoon with San Francisco would last one night. By morning, elder-care realities resurfaced when Miss Jo and Jeff awoke to find their charge missing.
In Washington, there were rare times when June was left to her own devices, like when she insisted on going to the mini market by herself in the next building. If she didn’t return in 20 minutes, Miss Jo would go looking for her, trying to imagine the wrong turn she made in a residential neighborhood near the Vice President’s mansion. Remarkably, she’d always be found tottering away, oblivious to being lost. To anyone not paying attention, June appeared like any other impeccably dressed senior citizen.
Less than 24 hours in SF, not only was June missing on strange turf, but Miss Jo hadn’t yet tucked a phone number and “Please-Call-Me-I’m-Her-Daughter” notes in her mom’s Coach purse and sweater pocket.
Fortunately, Miss Jo and Jeff’s early-morning jolt of terror was short lived.
Going floor by floor, Miss Jo came upon a maintenance man on a ladder who sensed desperation without looking down or being spoken to. “Try the sixth floor,” he said. Miss Jo shot up to six and spotted June, purse under her right arm, wearing her usual blue knit suit, pantyhose and pumps and wandering about. Like every day, she had showered, blow-dried her hair into a bob and expertly applied lipstick.
Everyone was relieved. The day resumed with a walk to the Ferry Building, under brilliant blue skies and alongside the equally azure bay.
Remarkably, June would never stray again, including Saturday mornings at the crowded Ferry Building farmer’s market.
One day Miss Jo left her mom on a bench to rest and people watch while her daughter shopped. Every few minutes Miss Jo would sneak a peak at June to make sure she hadn’t wandered off.
Twenty minutes later, Miss Jo returned. Assuringly, June was still there, yanking down her pantyhose with her skirt pulled up to her armpits. “I’m hot,” she barked. Miss Jo smiled. June had kept her promise not to leave the bench. Miss Jo tucked the pantyhose in with the tomatoes.
Photos by Miss Jo
Above: Enjoying an April Saturday morning behind the Ferry Building, Miss Jo’s Mom and Jeff chow down on fresh, organic tamales and tacos from the Primavera stand.
BELOW: The historic Phoenix Fire Boat entertained Miss Jo’s Mom from her living room; Their first SF apartment was partially under the Bay Bridge. 
