An old coworker/friend from my days in San Francisco whom I haven't heard from in ages in popped into a dream this morning. Seeing Neill again after all these years left me with such a wonderfully warm feeling—as if to remind me that the world hasn't always been the shit storm we currently find ourselves in—that I decided it was way past time to start jotting down memories of my time in The City before they slip away completely.
(Even now I must publish this caveat: they may or may not be a hundred percent accurate; such is the nature of the human mind and while I can go back and read my journals from the period, I only started writing them in 1987 and I didn't record everything.)
Hogg & Mythen Architects, Part One
When I first moved to San Francisco thirty one years ago this month, employment was not immediately forthcoming. I didn't expect to just walk into a job, but I had a desirable skill set, and knew it would just be a matter of time before I got settled.
After about a month, a landed a job working as an architectural drafter in a small firm in Japantown. The only downside to this was that I was working as an independent contractor, i.e. paying all my own taxes and had no benefits whatsoever. It didn't take me long to realize the office was filled with "independent contractors," all of whom had the classification but none of the perks of actually being independent. We were expected to work in the office with fixed hours and all the tools we needed to perform our tasks were supplied by the owner of the firm. And did I mention there wasn't ever any sort of contract for services signed by either party?
The owner was in the midst of renovating a three unit Victorian about two blocks from the office and my second partner and I (we'd moved to SF together after splitting up, go figure) ended up renting the bottom unit. That is another story for a different post.
Anyhow, as the months dragged on, I was becoming increasingly disenchanted with this employment arrangement, especially how I saw how we were all being taken advantage of. I brought up my concerns with the grizzled old bitch of an accountant who came into the office periodically (another "independent" contractor, no doubt), and I was told in no uncertain terms, "Everything we are doing is perfectly legal."
By the time January rolled around, I'd had enough. I sent out resumes to every San Francisco architectural firm listed in the phone book. A few days later I received a call asking me to come in for an interview.
Hogg & Mythen Architects was located on the third floor of a building on the southeast corner of Mission & 2nd Street downtown that had obviously seen better days. As I entered the rickety elevator and reached the third floor, greeted by a locked gate that cordoned off the lobby from the offices, I seriously thought about just turning around and leaving.
But I didn't.
I rang the bell, and was greeted by Nick, one of the owners. He showed me into the long, narrow office space and told me to take a seat at the fold-up conference table nestled up against a wall of bookshelves containing product catalogs and reference materials. A few moments later, Jack—the other owner—joined us and we started talking. The interview went on for over an hour. I showed the examples of my work, went over my background, and asked about the type of work they specialized in and what they were willing to pay. Despite the rather dank environment, everything sounded great and I liked these guys. It was an easy commute via a single bus line and as I left I really hoped I'd get a call from them.
By the time I'd arrived back home, there was already a message waiting on the answering machine. "We like you and would like for you to come work for us."
And so what was to become an almost decade-long relationship began.
I started work at H&M the following Monday, giving my current employer next-to-no notice (after all, I was an independent contractor) and shortly thereafter turned the bastard into the IRS. They nailed him to the wall. He ended up having to pay back taxes on all his "contractors" and I didn't owe a penny that year.
I was not H&M's only employee. They had one other drafter, a guy named Neill who had been on vacation when I'd interviewed with them. We met about a week into my employment. He was a tall, lanky ginger lad who had dual US/UK citizenship and had recently graduated from UC Berkeley. We hit it off immediately, but we really didn't bond until one day we were out measuring a building and he said something about cocksuckers. Without missing a beat, I replied, "Hey, some of my best friends are cocksuckers!" and he replied, "So are some of mine!" And that was the moment I came out to him.
Neill wasn't gay, but being a resident of San Francisco, he was still a staunch ally. While we butted heads on several occasions, to this day I still have nothing but affection for Neill and my only regret is that over the years we've lost touch with each other. He successfully got his architectural license the last year we worked together, and as I understand it has long since moved to the UK, gotten married, and now has kids of his own.
(to be continued)