Jordan steps down as police chief
Here is a look at the past. Items have been culled from The Chronicle’s archives of 25, 50, 75 and 100 years ago.
1990
Oct. 19: San Francisco Police Chief Frank Jordan abruptly resigned yesterday after a sometimes controversial five-year tenure, fueling a storm of speculation that he will run for mayor. Jordan said he is “not looking in the direction” of the November 1991 election. Jordan, 55, remained vague about his future except to say that he plans to explore options such as a corporate security job, a teaching position or a spot in state government. But he also snubbed mayor Art Agnos’ request that he put his promise not to run in writing. As for speculation that Jordan plans a battle for his seat, Agnos said, “He has looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’m not running for mayor.’ But he has the right to change his mind.”
1965
Oct. 18: The third and final big Bay Area march of the weekend to protest the war in Vietnam was held in San Francisco yesterday, and, by comparison with its two East Bay predecessors, it was a picnic. The police were cooperative, the hecklers were few, the marchers — about 800 of them at the end — were orderly and the rally speakers were brief. The march began at 1:15 p.m. from Golden Gate Panhandle then proceeded to the Civic Center, a distance of about two miles. There were mothers with infants in strollers, Bohemian student-types in beards and beat-up sneakers, slightly older men in suits and ties, women in downtown dresses and still older people who reflected the whole spectrum of sartorial habit. At the Civic Center rally the demonstrators in San Francisco were informed that Michael (Tiny) Walter, the 240-pound Hells Angel who led the flying-wedge assault on the anti-war parade in Berkeley, had been released on bail from charges of assault with a deadly weapon. Walter is suspected of wielding a bottle that broke the leg of Berkeley Police sergeant Claude Glenn. Walter’s bail was raised, according to Fred Ullner of San Rafael, director of the Republicans for Conservative Action, by a group his organization had hastily formed and entitled “Friends of the Hells Angels.” Six other Hells Angels arrested during the Oakland incident had been released earlier after police dropped the charges against them.
— Rob Robertson Oct. 24: Here are the physical standards required of men to be drafted into military service. Height — 60 inches minimum and 78 inches maximum. Weight — 105 pounds minimum. Eyesight — normal vision or vision that can be corrected with glasses. Hearing — normal hearing, the ability to hear a low conversation at 20 feet with each ear separately. Diseases — mild cases will be overlooked, but those with such diseases as tuberculosis, chronic arthritis and late syphilis will be rejected. Teeth — a minimum of three chewing teeth above and three below, meeting each other. Feet and hands — defects are permissible such as an absent left thumb, loss of two fingers of either hand except when the two are right index and middle finger, a slight club foot, web fingers and toes unless severe, the absence of one or two toes if the foot is otherwise good. These are not standard measures but the minimum for acceptance.
1915
Oct. 20: An elderly man with a genial smile listening studiously to the clicking of the telegraph key close to his ear. Around him, and filling the big banquet hall of the Commercial Club, the telegraph operators of San Francisco. This is the picture that will never be forgotten by those present last night at the dinner given to Thomas A. Edison, prince of inventors, but before that, telegraph operator, by the men of the profession of his youth. It was a notable banquet in that the speakers “spoke” over telegraph wires, strung on each table, each of which had its receiving instrument. An apple pie and a bottle of milk entered on the scene to bring with them the fraternal feeling between the man of white hair and heavy honors and his hosts. That had been Edison’s lunch in the old days when he, too, was a telegraph operator. And his appetite for apple pie and milk was still good.
Each of the “speakers” took the key in his turn. It all sounded much the same to the uninitiated, but the burst of applause that came whenever the name of the great inventor was clicked off showed how every trained telegrapher was “listening in.” And when the speakers concluded by sending “73” — which means “compliments” or “best wishes,” or something of that sort, Edison laughed and the telegraph world laughed with him. Of course, every telegrapher listened with keener attention when Edison himself took the key in his own hand to make his speech. It wasn’t “copper-plated Morse,” that Edison sent. He got his dots and dashes a bit mixed. But his “speech” went home to every listening heart and when the end came, all filed by the place where Edison stood, to pay homage to their leader and to shake his hand.