As New Year's Eve approaches, San Franciscans will fill restaurants, bars, and clubs, eager to get in a last celebration before 2016 dawns, and hopeful of avoiding the rain. The scene wasn't very different 102 years ago, with a few big exceptions: most notably, the lifting of a citywide ban on all-night dancing—for certain neighborhoods, anyway.
According to the December 31st, 1913 issue of the San Francisco Call, the city's chief of police, David A. White, decided to let the New Year's fun reign by allowing dancing in all the restaurants and cafes "that maintain floors for the purpose." The article, which bears the headline "Fun Goddess Reigns in All Cafes," notes that liquor sales were still only allowed until 2am (thanks to what was "a new state law" at the time). Dancing, however, could go as late as 6am on New Year's Day—an hour that would make modern clubgoers envious.
A saloon at Larkin and Geary streets, 1920.
"All the cafes on the beach, along Fillmore Street, and in the uptown tenderloin will benefit," says the article of the all-night dancing reprieve.
At the time, the Tenderloin was home to a number of saloons, but also offered billiard halls, brothels, theaters and hotels. The Fillmore, nestled on the edge of residential neighborhoods, was full of Jewish families, many of whom migrated there after the big 1906 earthquake and fire.
In the 1910s, thousands of Japanese immigrants also began moving to the neighborhood, creating what's now known as Japantown. With the combination of the dual population boom and its role as a transportation hub, the Fillmore became a key destination for those looking to get out for a night on the town.
Bars, restaurants and businesses on Fillmore between Eddy and Ellis, 1909.
Though lots of neighborhoods got a break when it came to New Year's dancing, one was intentionally left out of the fun: the notorious Barbary Coast.
"The resorts of the Barbary Coast are specifically excluded from participating in the all-night dancing," wrote the Call. "Chief White said that he would not include the Barbary Coast in the order, for the reason that he had committed himself to the policy of keeping that section closed and meant to adhere to it."
Kearny near Terrific Street, 1911.
The Barbary Coast's exclusion from all-night dancing likely had to do with politics. Mayor James Rolph had been elected two years earlier, and he was not a fan of its main drag, Terrific Street. Thanks to a particularly scathing article about Barbary Coast nightlife in the Examiner, the Police Commission had already announced that dancing in any bars in the district would be banned, and that no women would be allowed in any of Terrific Street's saloons.
While dancers (most of them, anyway) were given a break for New Year's, confetti-throwers were not. Rain was predicted that evening, and city officials didn't want to be left cleaning up gluey, wet confetti after a night of reveling.
"Owing to the weather conditions, I want to draw the attention of the department to the subject of picking up confetti from the streets and sidewalks and throwing it on the persons of others," read an order to police released by Chief White. "Instruct your commands that this will not be permitted, and to arrest violators of this order."
The Fillmore, downtown, and Terrific Street were all bustling, but the biggest event of New Year's Eve was set for the city's fairgrounds, with 100,000 people expected to attend. Featured acts included an "exhibition drill" by young ladies, a bear flag presented by Native Americans, and a temporary post office, where San Franciscans could send commemorative postcards.
The Knights of Columbus, meanwhile, were hosting a dinner for 600 people at midnight, after an evening "entertainment" at the city auditorium. The fraternal orders prepared "elaborate programs" for the occasion. For those not seeking a party atmosphere, churches held "special watch services until midnight, when the year 1914 [was] solemnly welcomed."
Over 100 years may have passed since December 31st, 1913, but the culture of New Year's Eve in San Francisco appears to have stayed the same when it comes to having fun—rain or no rain.
"When the whistles blow for 1914 at midnight, the downtown streets will be thronged with celebrating San Franciscans, whether old Jupiter Pluvius weeps or not," wrote the Call. "Indeed, if he does weep, he'll be the only lachrymose individual around this part of the world, for San Francisco has made up her mind to have a good time and to laugh the old year out and the new year in, no matter what happens."
