My wife Gail and I drove away from Lawrence, Kansas on June 7, 1979. We drove to San Francisco excited about the possibilities that loomed in front of us. It took us three days to drive through the Midwest plains, the salt flats of Utah and the boringness of Nevada until we reached our destination.

I was born in Boston, raised in New Jersey, went to college, graduate school and got married in Kansas. Now we were ready for a new adventure. Gail is African-American. I am white and Jewish. We were looking to move to a more progressive area. I visited San Francisco with my family when I was eighteen years old and always dreamed of moving there.

I think we had a couple thousand saved up. We immediately moved into our friend’s apartment near the shopping center. She and her boyfriend took off to Marin and we have been in the same place ever since.

It was affordable. The rent was only $335.00 per month and inflation had not ravaged all our income at that point. We spent our time traveling around on public transportation, eating at great restaurants and taking in all the beauty that the Bay Area brings.

All in all, it was a very pleasant time. The weather was wonderful, and we fell in love with the fog. We realized we were now living in a place that rarely got too hot or cold. We previously resided in Kansas; home of tornados, extreme temperatures, right wing politics and a lack of excitement. We knew we needed to find jobs soon if we were going to be able to continue to live here.

I was fearful that we wouldn’t be able to find jobs and would have to return to Kansas or New Jersey to live with our parents until we were employed. I know this fear is irrational, but hey, this is how I roll.

Gail found a teaching job in a small private school in August. We were elated. The school was in Daly City, a short commute by car; a longer one by foot.

I was finding it difficult to land a job. I think there was high unemployment in the late 70’s; at least there was a lack of opportunities in the social services field. I spent my mornings scrutinizing the San Francisco Chronicle and Examiners Want Ads for jobs(remember them? You probably don’t if are less than fifty years old).

I was hired by a company to get names and addresses off of mail boxes. The only day I completed this job was one of those freak times where the temperature headed into the triple digit zone. I was near Ocean Beach and I walked into the water with all my clothes on and got thrown around by the waves. Later I learned that this was a dangerous act and I could have been swallowed up by the angry sea.

I was near panic as the days past and I couldn’t find a job. I had just obtained a master’s degree in social welfare and was wondering if the diploma was worth anything.

Gail would go off to work and I would go on interviews. I remember my experience in a group interview where five candidates for the position were interviewed by the supervisor. This was degrading and humiliating. Of course, I didn’t get the job and my spirits were running low.

Then one afternoon, I got a call on our rotary phone (remember those?) from the executive director of the Southern Alameda County Head Start Program in Hayward. Could I start tomorrow?

A smile was plastered on my face for the rest of the day. I had promised myself that I would buy a couple of albums as soon as I locked down employment.

It was a sunny day and I drove through Golden Gate Park to North Beach. Tower Records was at Columbus and Bay Street. I parked the car and headed to the rock and roll aisle. I bought Van Morrison’s Into the Music and South Side Johnny’s The Jukes.

They are still two of my favorite albums of all time.

The sun in my face. The records clutched in my hand. Walking into my apartment to my loving wife’s arms, overwhelmed with the Promise of Better Days Ahead. I realize that almost forty years later, I am experiencing the same sensations right now. The best is yet to come.