Vanquishing a classic free S.F. experience

Every media outlet in the world seems to be proclaiming San Francisco a shell of its former glory. According to the likes of the New Yorker and the Washington Post, the City by the Bay has gone to the birds and while I mostly disagree with the pileon, I’d like to call out a true tragedy about which no one seems appropriately upset: the glass elevators at the Westin St. Francis are no longer open to the public.

Haven’t we suffered enough? The city’s homeless crisis is at a boiling point. Real estate prices have made living nearby all but impossible. Tech bros born after I graduated from college make more in a week than I make in a year. “Beach Blanket Babylon” is closing. And now we can’t ride the glass elevators at the historic St. Francis Hotel.

Suburban Sacramento, here I come.

One of the highlights of the holiday season during my 1980s childhood was a ride on the famous St. Francis glass elevators that so smoothly rose above the city, provided no buzz-kill hotel guest ruined the ride by pressing a mid-building floor button. This slice of pure urban glamour was an annual treat: a sky-high end to a dressed-up family dinner in the city and Union Square windowshopping. I remember rushing past the lobby Christmas display, hand-inhand with my cousin, to score an empty elevator and soar up to the 32nd floor, marveling at the lights of downtown San Francisco and feigning terror at the ride.

The top of the hotel was home to a nightclub called Oz. We were never brave enough to actually peek inside of Oz, although I imagine it included gold lame and a floating sea of dry-ice smoke. I can’t be certain, but I’m hopeful that the coat-check of Oz was filled with full-length mink coats and helmed by a gum-snapping wannabe 49ers cheerleader. I assumed Oz would be an important part of my adulthood, like “Cheers” to my Norm. But this dream was not to be.

Though Oz closed long ago, I have made a point of continuing my rides on the elevators at the St. Francis hotel. I think my last trip skyward was about six years ago, but I’ve kept the possibility of a St. Francis elevator ride in my back pocket. I can always pop into this iconic hotel and scan San Francisco from above, right?

Wrong!

The glass elevators at the Westin St. Francis are key-card protected now. You not only need a hotel key card to call an elevator, you’ve got to plug in whatever floor you’re going to from the lobby. Trust me. I tried pressing all the buttons. I stood there like a weirdo slamming my hand against an apparatus designed to keep me from enjoying San Francisco.

A bellhop boarded the very last elevator with his cart full of luggage and I considered begging my way onboard, but it wouldn’t be the same. That glass elevator magic is lost when you’ve got to break the rules to look out a window.

I asked the concierge why the hotel made the mistake of privatizing what I regard as their biggest public draw. People ask this question all the time, he said, and there’s no real concrete answer. Apparently, too many people were pushing their way onto the elevators. The crowd created a bottleneck in the lobby. It annoyed the guests. And, you know, this is a private hotel, with rooms that run $450 a night, so they can’t let a bunch of little local girls in white tights and taffeta dresses take 20 giggly rides in an elevator.

People also still ask if Oz remains in business, the concierge said. It closed years ago. (And, no, as far as the concierge can remember, there was never a floating sea of dry-ice smoke on the dance floor.) He understands why I was disappointed that the elevators are private now. And I understand why some horrible corporate overlord made that decision.

But there’s an opportunity here. Marriott International owns Westin Hotels & Resorts. It’s a publicly traded company with revenue last year of more than $20 billion. Marriott can afford to find a way to restore one little slice of magic to San Francisco, right? Open up the elevators. We’ll wait in line. We’ll only take one ride. We’ll behave.

As the city changes and longtime locals leave, those of us who remain need a touchstone. We need an occasional 32-story smooth-glide reminder of our beauty and sparkle and personality. We need the glass elevators at the Westin St. Francis.

This slice of pure urban glamour was an annual treat: a sky-high end to a dressed-up family dinner in the city and Union Square window-shopping.