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Sail Away: Goodbye Sausalito

By Myer Thompson

It was a world at war. Jerry was sweeping through western Europe en route to England, Tojo was pushing through China on his way to the British Raj, and el Duce had long ago conquered lowly Ethiopia. Meanwhile, a world away, nestled north of Fog City, thousands of men and women went to work building ships. The place: Sausalito, California. Yeah, long before the boomers and yuppies moved in, Sausalito was a hard-working ship town.

Long before the yippies and hippies -- even before the shipyards -- the city was a massive rum-running hub during Prohibition. It was perfectly perched to ply the entire Bay Area with premium booze. Runners would secret their cargo at the docks, wait for dark, then transport the crates of rye by speedboat.

The PC Bay Area was a bit rougher around the edges then -- before the Dot Com bust and the influx of gentrified developers and Silicon Valley nerds. There was a day when being from San Francisco meant something more than being a Prius-driving, tech-savvy fop. Not that there's anything wrong with being a fop.

Even the Sausalito hotels used to embody the pathos of gnarled, steel-smashed fingers and lives. Now, they're boutique beauties that cost a decent wage. Sure, it's worth it if you're passing through or rightly think staying someplace other than San Fran is the way to really enjoy the Bay Area.

It's indicative of the times. Gone are the traces of steel working, the welders, the cranes, and the tugs that pulled the destroyers and frigates out to sea. Now, it's all about sailboats and multi-million dollar homes and being cast out of some of the most beautiful scenery anywhere on this planet. Sure, I get it: the past was then -- this is now. If you can charge $1 million for a two-bedroom cabin, then bully for you.

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