During the years when I took these pictures in San Francisco, I liked to stop by the Pier 23 Café. Squatting on the waterfront it looked like a fish shanty out of the thirties. A small jazz group usually drew a full house on Sunday afternoons. I met Rooster McComb, a Canadian sailor, there one Sunday and when the jazz ended he invited us aboard his destroyer for a nightcap. Things like that happen in San Francisco.

But I liked Pier 23 best on quiet weekday afternoons. Especially on a dank day when the bay and the passing ships blended into hazy shades of gray. Seated at the bar in this monotone world it was easy to become John Garfield and, at any minute, have Ida Lupino swing up on the next stool. Things like that can happen in San Francisco.