Page 3 of 20 pages, from 20 years of living in the USA

The stories about living in San Francisco, my beloved San Francisco are about my living in the United States for the past 20 years, and here I am continuing to tell you how I have survived, and made it.

In 1992, I started volunteering at Project Open Hand. This wonderful organization provides meals (dinner) and groceries for people living with HIV and Aids. It was the perfect opportunity to give to my community, not only the gay community, but the San Francisco community of men, women and children living with HIV and Aids.

After a few months of driving, actually of being the co-pilot for the driver, many of whom I became friends with, I landed my first good job in the States, there, at Project Open Hand as a driver. I was going to drive and deliver meals 4 days a week. I was going to drive one of its vans, and I had to go and get my driver’s license.  There wasn’t much time since they need a driver.

We had volunteers, but there were days when we did not have enough of them, and we still had to deliver the hot meal to our clients.

Well, here I was landing a job that provided me a decent salary, and health insurance, but most importantly, it provided with an experience that helped me to love San Francisco, to work with talented people, to meet wonderful human beings, and to discover every shortcut and street of city by the Bay.

By then, there was not GPS, so I had to carry with me the Thomas Moore roadmaps, and learn the one way streets, the 2 ways streets and the major intersections of San Francisco. It taught me to locate the Tenderloin, the Mission, Golden Gate Park, Hunters Point, Pacific Heights and the Marina. I learned where to park, I learned where not to park. The hills of Potrero Hill and Nob hill, the long avenues in the outer Sunset and the Richmond area. And, of course, many of the Projects.  I couldn’t ask for a better way to learn about San Francisco, but by driving around, delivering meals, and meeting some peculiar and interesting human beings.

Coming from Maracaibo, Venezuela, I had never been before a neighborhood like the tenderloin and its hotels. Trust me, in Maracaibo, we have singular neighborhoods, full with characters of their own, but nothing like the tenderloin in San Francisco. In the hotels –those that carry sign saying daily, weekly and monthly rates- I experienced a lot of things. Most of them made me laugh and appreciate life for what it is, a present moment teaching you something about people, things, and yourself.

Each visit to those hotels involved meeting new people every time I went there, but also seeing familiar faces that learned and remembered my name quickly. I got compliments (hello handsome!!!) from many clients, but once in a while, I went through scary moments and situation. The typical fights, the exchange of “things” I did not expect to see, the tragedy happening to an individual.

In these hotels, I saw for the first time the type of elevator you have to close the door yourself. I don’t know how you call it, but the ride was always an experience. A wondering experience, thinking if I was going to make it to my destination. Oh, those old days in San Francisco.

I worked from 1 to 9, Friday through Monday. My days off right in the middle of the week, but it didn’t matter to me. I was happy, and really for the first couple of years it fulfilled with the security I needed, especially the financial security, so I could pay my rent, food, tuition since I was enrolled in San Francisco City College to learn English as second language. I was 24 and eager to learn. Learning was a great motive for me to wake up every morning and tell myself, “You can make it. Just keep doing what you’re doing”.

I worked at Project Open Hand for 2 and half years. Project Open Hand meant to me my first San Francisco Gay Pride Parade, my first Thanksgiving celebration, Halloween, Christmas. The names of Hilda, Fernando, Nestor, Kathleen, David, Chuck, Paul were part of the family. They gave a hand when I needed, and they helped me to enjoy every minute working there. There, I met an especial friend Richard Rapoza, a brilliant and very talented man from Nicaragua. So many laughs, chats and great moments with him.

Two and half years driving the streets of San Francisco, delivering meals, that for so many, it meant the only meal they had every day.

From July 1992 until December 1994 I was part of the team at Project Open Hand. My first good job in San Francisco and one the most important learning experiences I have had in this country. I never would have imagined that I was going to drive a big van and deliver meals for people living with HIV and Aids in San Francisco, California 6 months earlier when I was running the Los Angeles Marathon.  Never.

Page 2 of 20 pages, from 20 years living in the USA

Y.M.C.A is an organization, but it is also a popular song that brings together different generations to dance and enjoy the days of the Village People. Now, the Y.M.C.A in the tenderloin in San Francisco was a place where I stayed for a few nights when I arrived to the city. And, it represents one of the pages of my 20 years living in the USA, and this is why.

The first days and nights in San Francisco meant to stay in places I could afford, and the YMCA opened its door with clean, safe and comfortable rooms to stay. At least, that was my experience.  The YMCA is located at Golden Gate Avenue and Hyde Street in San Francisco, and, whoever lives or has lived in the city knows that this is a very “interesting” area, and I had just arrived there.

At night, I will hear things, and during the day, I will see them closely, and I knew that I was in the right place at the right time. I knew I was in the city I always wanted to be, where simply, I could be myself.

Anyway, the YMCA opened its facilities to work out and to get involved as a volunteer. Did you know that I used to teach Aerobics classes back in Venezuela? Yes, I did, and as a volunteer at the YMCA in the tenderloin in San Francisco I had the chance, after taking introductory classes, to become an Aerobics instructor there.

What a fun time, because I loved teaching classes in Venezuela, and I was good at it. I don’t know if it was the music, my movements, the energy I brought to the class, the people who attended my classes, the warm/hot weather in Venezuela, the salsa music or the merengue music, or the old pop music from the 80’s. The fact that I brought that legacy with me to the States helped me to become an Aerobics instructor at the YMCA in the tenderloin of San Francisco, and give it to some wonderful people who took a chance with my classes, and my English of basically 5 words: Yes, No, Hello, Thank you and Please.

This experience put in contact, in touch with 2 men who became great friends, and to these days, they are people that I admire, respect and love. First, I met Robert “Bobby” Baxter who was the first man I got involved with. We were together for about 3 months. Bobby opened his home to me in the Castro to stay with him for a while. I was right in the middle of the Castro, 18^th street and Castro Street above the Walgreens. So, I went from the Tenderloin to the Castro in San Francisco. I am telling you, I was living in the right places at the right times.

At the YMCA I also met Robert Scott. One of the most amazing, energetic, fun Aerobics instructors I have ever experienced. Just watching him teaching a class was fun, but even more fun than that, it was taking his classes. Oh my God!!!!

Robert has charm that flows all over. He got a voice that “hypnotizes” you. His smile illuminates a room, and…and…he speaks Spanish. These are just a few things I want to say about him…but mostly, he is one good man that gave me his friendship, taught me about teaching at the Y (as we called it) and, I value his friendship as one golden treasure.

I keep traveling back and for through my memories, my index of cards and notes of 20 years living in the United States. I write about it, and this is only page 2 of the 20 pages. I may not be writing the greatest pieces in Literature, but I am writing honest and heartfelt stories of a man who arrived to the States when he was 24 years old (24 ½ actually), because I want to honor so many family members and friends, who have become my family here in this beautiful country…my home country now. They helped me and they keep helping to reach my dreams and to enjoy my life as Juan Carlos Pinedo Rivera.

I want to end this page #2 by thanking to my beloved little brother Miguel for pushing me to write the second chapter. He got so excited and happy with the first one that he asked me, the last time we talked over the phone, “when are you going to write the next pages of your 20 years living in the United States?”

Ok Migue, this one, was also for you.

I love you all.

Juancho