San Diego Reader

Just South of North Park by John O’Brien

When people ask where South Park is located, my standard response is: “Just South of North Park.” Sounds obvious enough, but this tends to throw non-San Diegans and those who have recently arrived for a loop. Perhaps they think I’m pretending to live in a fictional, cartoon town populated by foul-mouthed, witty, two-dimensional children? No, long before Comedy Central enthralled the bloodshot eyes of countless Americans, South Park (the real neighborhood) has been here: directly north of Golden Hill, a hike east of Balboa Park, nestled just South of North Park.

Yes, South Park really exists and may very well be the last “real” or authentic neighborhood in San Diego County due to its distinct independence and originality. Now, this may be viewed as a challenge or even come across as offensive to proud Kensingtonians, O’Becians, Hillcrestaceans, or Little Italians, so here’s the first of a few qualifications of its unequaled authenticity:

1. There’s no Starbucks. Not one—nor any other bean-monopolizing franchise offshoots. Thankfully, Rebecca’s Coffeehouse fills this niche quite well. It’s friendly, comfortable, and non-corporate. In fact, the only corporate imprint that South Park possesses is one 7-11. No Ralph’s, no McDonald’s, no Chili’s, no Verizon or Cingular outposts. All of the markets and shops are independently owned. However, this apparent lack of corporate presence (assuming that corporations are inherently disconnected from the community—i.e. “evil”-- because their fiduciary responsibility is to shareholders far above individual customers, and they tend to squash small business competition with their far greater capital) is only the first of a few endearing characteristics that qualifies recognition of South Park as a “real neighborhood.”

2. There’s a neighborhood bar. Actually, there are two, and either one is within convenient stumbling distance from my South Park abode. Yes, I realize that there are other neighborhood bars in San Diego. It just so happens that the two in South Park are probably, empirically the best (Though I have no real evidence to prove this assertion, I think if I repeat it over and over again, then most Americans will begin to believe it as fact). The Whistle Stop provides-- aside from alcohol-- a very relaxed atmosphere where local bands, DJ’s, and artists are welcomed to perform or display their work. But if the Whistle Stop is too uniformly hipster for you, then Hamilton’s Tavern is right down 30th Street. Arguably the closest thing to Cheers that San Diego will ever get. It’s named after a 90 year-old South Park resident who still takes a regular seat at the bar (If you ever meet Hamilton, he’s likely to share a World War II story or two). After 6pm it swarms with locals just off of work—most of whom walk or bike there. The quintessence of a local bar, barking dogs are welcomed inside. It has a screen door for Chrissakes! You can even stroll in with your own food as long as you wash it down with wine or one of the hundred or so obscure beers available. The owner has renovated it so well, it’s difficult to imagine the days when it was garage-like “Sparky’s” with a gigantic penis sculpture next to the pool table!

3. It lies at the borderline of gentrification—creating a diversity perhaps unmatched in San Diego. As you may well know, in the 1990’s many suburbanite home buyers migrated back toward urban areas—renovating and refurbishing older homes/apartments in lower income areas, which raised property values (and rent). This typically forced the less-affluent-- historically and disproportionately African-Americans and Latinos-- to move further South or East or both (meaning east of downtown and South of highway 94, aka MLK Freeway, aka SD’s Mason-Dixon Line). Many families in South Park—of notably mixed ethnicity—owned property and therefore benefitted from gentrification. Also, low-rent apartments still exist amidst the million dollar homes. As a result, South Park embodies a diversity that defies both class and race. The prince or the pauper, for example, may have the following experience in the neighborhood: Ordering carne asada and other fine meats from the local grocery store (in Spanish), walking to the corner market to grab a gourmet sandwich (in English), and then drinking an exotic beer while Hamilton tells you of his segregated unit in WWII (in Gibberish). I digress. The point is that the social, cultural and economic diversity of South Park might put the Rainbow Coalition to shame (which I’m sure Jesse Jackson has already done) and inspire the ACLU to dissolve—or something like that.

4. The last point to this list (which could go on at the risk of seeming to purposely ingratiate myself to local residents and businesses in exchange for adulation and freebies) is the key element of any neighborhood: the houses. More people appear to walk, jog, and stroll this neighborhood because—according to me—it’s actually an interesting place to explore. Every home in South Park is unique. The styles and shapes differ from house to house; block to block. Craftsman homes are strongly represented, but there’s everything from Spanish colonial to Shoebox. This is one of San Diego’s oldest neighborhoods—pre-cookie-cutter, tracked-home developments. Some of the homes date back to the late 19th century, with historical placards in commemoration of the tax break they offer the proud owners. In this sense South Park is both traditional and original. And the diversity of the homes reflects the kind of interesting characters you’ll find walking these streets and patronizing its small businesses.

Indeed, in contrast to Trey Parker’s cartoon creation, South Park is certainly a “real” place. I suppose for any neighborhood to be “real” or “authentic” the requirements are quite simple: housing and human residents. More importantly, South Park has created a culture uniquely its own—not better than any place else, just unlike any other neighborhood in San Diego. Where else can you walk into a tiny restaurant called “The Big Kitchen”, read a menu dominated by the early feminist “Declaration of Sentiments” of 1848, hear that Whoopi Goldberg once waited tables there, and be greeted in partial French by a kind owner named Judy? Where else could you buy a Pomeranian pale ale nobody’s ever heard of, play foosball, and talk to a 90-year-old, sober barfly named Hamilton who fought against Hitler and Tojo? You tell me.

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