There were so many moments during my childhood that I can recall scanning crowds and staring at strange men, wondering, "Are you my Father"? I especially noticed men in sailor suits since that is the way I remembered my Father. When we arrived in San Francisco my eyes were working overtime because I knew he was living close to the city. I was supposed to see him but when our travel date was moved up my Mom told me we wouldn't have time. So I searched the crowds, hoping for recognition.
By this time I had forgotten what my Father looked like. Bob called him "swarthy" and said it with a most definite negative connotation. I had also heard the adjectives "dark" and "greasy" when I heard people talking about my Father. Photographs did show him to have an olive complexion, as did his mother Pauline. He was of German descent, but Paulina's family immigrated from Russia. I imagined he was a Russian gypsy but my sister Linda preferred American Indian and would tell people that she was part American Indian.
We spent that one and only day we had in San Francisco taking care of business. I remember the people on the street being dressed so much more formally than people dressed in Southern California. Everyone in Los Angeles dressed casually; here women wore fancy dresses and the men all wore suits.
We went into a building that was almost entirely marble. It was some type of Federal building, I believe. It was all gray, cold feeling but very majestic. The outside of the building had carved mythological creatures surrounding the roof, all of them intimidating to view.
When we finally returned to the room we had a short visit from Ruth and Pickle 1 and 2. They were traveling with us. Everything was set. We would leave America the next day.