Urban Signage

Golden Gate Park stretches from the western shore of San Francisco to the middle of the peninsula on which the city is built. I'd crossed it, driven past it, paralleled it via public transit, and was finally taking an afternoon to walk through it. What resulted was a conversation with local graffiti artists, sidewalk chalkers, and city policy makers, all without saying a word.

I started at the eastern side where Masonic Avenue intersects the most narrow section of the park. Within a few minutes of entering, I came across the intersection of Fell and Oak streets, which had bordered the park until they met here.  After they merged, they became John F. Kennedy Drive which goes through the park itself.

I gazed ahead at the intersection to begin watching for traffic, but something drew my eyes down to the sidewalk. A stencil of a car and some words were painted widely across the blacktop.  It read, "Death Monsters Ahead".  I was a bit stunned at the simplistic yet meaningful statement. Even while the pedestrian signal indicated that it was safe for me to cross, I was still taken aback, wrapped in thought that someone would actually take the time to not only paint this, but design the stencil as well.

Not long after I successfully made it past the intersection of the treacherous "death monsters", I came across several other inscriptions on the ground.  These ranged in purpose from political, to the instructional, and even the artistic.

While bike tires and footsteps had smeared these calcium-rich statements, their meanings still shined through.  One calls for the construction of a bicycle path network while another one celebrates and illustrates diversity. The then-present president has his office questioned with only six nouns and three verbs. Another writer invites you to chalk your thoughts - the invitation itself partially obscured over by an RSVP in the positive. 

Lastly, there was a section of the park I came upon that had some odd rules. After seeing one that stated "No Golf Allowed", I thought it was strange, but reasonable. After I realized how close this section of the park was to the road, it made a lot more sense. The idea of getting whacked in the head, or the windshield, by a golf ball isn't a pleasant thought at all.  But had this truly been a problem in the past?

No more than a few steps past the anti-golf proclamation, I witness not one, but two more signs, nailed to the same tree.  Both were hanging in oppose directions, like drunks leaning over a balcony.  Their statements just as confusing: "No Softball" and "No Volleyball". I thought these were a joke at first, like the graffiti earlier on the paths. I half-expected the next sign to say "No Fun Allowed" or "Don't Even Think About Enjoying Yourself In This Park". 

I'm sure some very sensible reasons exist for these signs to be up.  Perhaps it's that section of the park's proximity to the roads, or maybe there are other parts of the park devoted to those activities. However, despite the actual "Park Code" quoted one of these signs, it's very difficult to take them seriously. 

As I made my way back to the house, I made sure to take the same course in reverse, noting all the signs that I had photographed earlier.  Every written sign, no matter how indelible, striking, or nuance it may be, was put there by a human being.  Whether it had stood for years or until the next rain, it remains a form of communication that harks back to caveman drawings.  Each sign shares a basic purpose and message, no matter what literal meaning.

They all say, "I am here, I am human, and I feel this knowledge is important enough to be shared."  Writing knowledge down gives it value, at the very least to the person who writes it. If a stranger happens upon it, they determine for themselves if the value is shared.  Just as you read these words, you make a determination as to whether or not you enjoyed the story.  :-)