For the Presidio’s 250th anniversary celebration, the chapel was surprisingly quiet. Cozily cornered on the velvety hillside, the chapel peeked out from the roof line of Riley Avenue. The chapel itself was quaint; the dissonant colors of its tiles flowed seamlessly into the plaques on the walls. The walls were dressed with names of soldiers who had died overseas. In many instances, the chapel being their final moment of peace before their stories came to a close. A multimedia composition titled “The Saga of Crissy Field” guided visitors through its history.
As the lights went down, the screen’s blue light and the eternal flame in the back of the chapel became the lone bastions of illumination in the space. The composition was as bright as the smiles people wore, and conversation slowed as the sounds of the symphony filled the room and attendees reflected on….
A video was accompanied by soaring crescendos, shimmering scenes and everything in between that told the story of the Presidio.. The land of the Presidio originally belonged to the Ohlone people who lived there for roughly 3,000 years; the song highlighted their presence by starting with a slow number. The video painted the sanctity of these once hollow grounds and showed how it became what it is now.
The piece abruptly stopped and stepped into the period of Spanish colonization which later shifted to the American occupation which would lead to the Presidio most people are familiar with today. “The Saga of Crissy Field” highlighted a series of letters from Bartolomé de las Casas, who begged his fellow Spaniards to spare the native population, saying that they too should be loved as “any Spanish child.” His requests were ultimately ignored, and thousands were massacred.
The piece progressed and arrived at Executive Order 9066. In one fell swoop the order demanded 120,000 Japanese Americans, two-thirds of which were American citizens, to become prisoners. The audience watched intently as they experienced part of American history, part of San Francisco history and part of the Presidio’s history. The composition detailed the roughly 6,000 Japanese Americans who were forced to study language for the US army to help break Japanese codes. They were forced to do so in a building planted directly across from the same chapel where today, “The Saga of Crissy Field” played. The same chapel where many worship and continue to do so. The same chapel where men spent their final moments. Just as quickly as the piece began, it ended. The low utterance of a foghorn growled, as the piece drew to a close. On the screen, the fog swallowed the Golden Gate Bridge as the city stood proudly in the background. The lights were reintroduced. Peoples’ faces sat solemnly still. Hands attempted to touch the ceiling, prepared to ask questions.
The group shuffled out of the chapel and into an annex. A fresco stretched the room and hugged the wall. The sun’s warmth traced its lines depicting the Presidio’s history from the Ohlone people to US military occupation. The fresco shows how our interpretations of history shape how we construct and view our communities. This sense of community permeated the conversations had with people that were in attendance that day to celebrate the life of the Presidio.
The group celebrating the anniversary huddled in the shade and backdrop of the formerly exposed fresco that was nestled behind glass on the left flank of the chapel. Beyond, there was a row of small, silver obelisks — tombstones of the Presidio’s graveyard. Below the hill was a building that served as a United Nations peace stop and was where the Treaty of San Francisco was signed: the treaty formally responsible for ending war in the Pacific with Japan during World War II.
I crossed paths with attendees Liz Triggs and Margo Davis with whom I spoke under this same shaded spot, viewing the fresco from afar. They were interested in discussing the place that the Presidio holds as a long, stolid community fixture in San Francisco. They each spoke about their personal connection to the Presidio. Triggs revealed the joy she took in sharing its history with people as a former docent there, and Davis shared that it’s her happy place. Both illustrated the Presidio’s unique ability to bring people in and hold them tight. Triggs mentioned that the Presidio’s natural beauty, enables people to connect even if they don’t have anything in common with someone that they are interacting with. Their description of its dynamic nature as an ever changing community cornerstone contrasts their future wishes. Both Triggs and Davis expressed that they hope the Presidio “does not change.” The only constant in the Presidio’s history has been its ability to fit whatever mold will bring people together. With the Presidio standing, the communal heartbeat of San Francisco will remain beating.
Behind Triggs and Davis, people continued to move in and out of the chapel, stopping to study the fresco or talk beneath the shade. Conversations faded, the chapel returned to the quiet that had filled it at the start of the celebration. After 250 years of changing hands, purposes and communities, the Presidio was far from still. Outside, visitors continued across its grounds, adding their footsteps to a place shaped by generations before them, each broken twig and fractured leaf holding memories from our future being tucked to the cachet of the past. Telling our stories now and reminding us that our stories are the blueprint of history.
