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Bunny Rabbit Foots and Angels

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Contributed by: Annie Miller on 7/4/2007

I grew up in San Francisco. I know ... everyone thinks it does nothing but rain there, which really isn't quite true. I will say that no matter how hot it got, we got a reprieve at around four o'clock every day when the fog came rolling across the bay.

Weather is accepted. It just happens. I don't ever remember tuning in the radio or TV to find out what was happening weather-wise. It just was - and never extraordinary.

This recollection isn't about the weather, although the elements did play a part. When I think back on it now, I am still amazed that I am alive to relate the incidents of a cold winter night back in 1970.

I was nineteen, and my boyfriend was a musician. Haight Street was in its heyday, and there were not only musicians hanging around on every corner, at the beach and parks - there were poets handing out flowers with copies of their verse and people in flowing dress dancing barefoot to music only they could hear. I remember a police officer named Sergeant Sunshine and a guy who always dressed like Julius Caesar.

God, I'm glad those days have passed! I guess it is miracle enough that I survived those times with little or no brain damage.

Back to that wintry night. My boyfriend, the drummer, thought it would be a great idea to go down to the beach and play to the waves. This particular stretch of the beach is right down from the Cliff House Restaurant - right across the highway from Playland-at-the-Beach. To get down there you have to descend about thirty to thirty five steep steps. Once down on the sand there are a number of deeper steps used to lay out blankets or sit and sun on, watch the waves from. Normally it's quite a ways from there down to the water.

It was drizzling and the air was chilled. We sat on the third step/landing up from the sand and he began to play his conga drum. At that point, as if called, a wave came up and hit right below where were sitting. Of course I thought it was impossible - I had never seen the water come this far up the beach. We got up to move and as we walked another wave came and hit me mid-chest. All I could think was that I was going to be dragged out to sea, never to be heard or seen again. His main concern was his damned conga drum!

I panicked, convinced this was it, Martha ...we're gonna drown!

I insisted we go back up to the Great Highway, but he was reluctant. Well, the heck with him. I made my way to the stairs and up to the street. I saw a police car and thought that maybe the officer could talk sense to him.

Of course, here was I, a young, bedraggled, soaking wet hippie girl talking nonsense about tidal waves. All I lacked was a flower in my hair and a doobie hanging out of the corner of my mouth. The policeman shook his head and told me he'd be glad to give me a ride home.

I was insistent and near hysterical when he finally decided to check out my story. He made a U-turn on the Great Highway pulling over to the stairs and slowly got out of his vehicle. I can imagine now what he was thinking. I had interrupted his doughnut break in a warm diner and now he was out in the freezing damp searching for some lunatic young guy and his drum.

As he stood at the top of the stairs with his flashlight pointed far out at where the waves would normally have been, suddenly a wave crashed at the top of the step. He turned and looked at me, finally realizing I had been telling the truth - wasn't in some drug-induced fog. He went back to his patrol car and called for back up.

Two more patrol cars rushed to the scene and, after conferencing, the three officers decided it would probably be a good idea to get the Coast Guard involved.

One of the police decided it would be best to drive slowly down the highway and see if my friend may have come up off the beach on his own. He left and the others and myself just stood and watched in awe as the waves crashed at the top of the cement staircase.

It seemed like an eternity, but was most likely less than ten minutes when the cop that left came back with news; my friend was walking slowly up the highway carrying his drum above his head ... without a care in the world!

Yes, I do believe in guardian angels ... mine was certainly on duty that night. Overtime!

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Showing 1-7 of 7 comments

Submitted By: Mark Clopton

posted on 7/24/2007 @ 5:11:04 PM

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Annie, I have found folks generally have MUCH more problem with MY skepticism about such things, then they find from me for their beliefs. With agnostics and atheists at near 40 million people in this country, how many do you actually know?

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Submitted By: Mark Clopton

posted on 7/24/2007 @ 5:09:12 PM

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Annie, well ok, if you believe in invisible beings to make you feel better, tis ok with me. I just don't find a rational for it. For me, it's kinda like think Santa exists, or the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy...that kind of thing.

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Submitted By: Ann Weyant

posted on 7/13/2007 @ 8:47:36 AM

Rated Blog Entry

Our angels do watch over us. Enjoyed reading your story. God Bless, Ann

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Submitted By: Mark Clopton

posted on 7/12/2007 @ 1:27:50 PM

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The moral impulse of FREEDOM never dies.

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Submitted By: Mark Clopton