In November of 2004 I met Wilbur while volunteering with Lighthouse for the Blind and Visually Impaired in San Francisco. What began as occasional lunches at Polk Street Station and light grocery shopping at Big Apple Discount Center turned into a five year friendship.
Initially guarded, Wilbur soon shared stories of past loves, losing his sight as a teenager, surviving a stabbing, writing poetry, and navigating his way home after late nights in pre-Castro Polk Street gay life.
Over time I started leaving my camera at home, afraid that the sounds of the shutter may give Wilbur the impression that he was more of a subject than a friend. While I regret not capturing more personal moments, it’s comforting to know he didn’t experience them all alone.
Polk Street Station, San FranciscoOccasionally pausing on our walks to record the birds singingSometimes we would just sit quietly, listening to the televisionSculptures, paintings from friends, and 30-year old plants lined the apartment surfacesMonthly checks written using a signature guideThe Polk Street Station manager often teased Wilbur about having enhanced listening skillsChecks waiting to go out to Wilbur’s landlord and to pay off his bodega tab were kept in a bible next to a small photo of an old friend, Reverend Howard RasmussenStaying in contact with friendsPosing in a saucy sailor outfit for HalloweenAfter lunch on Saturdays: Cala Foods, the liquor store, lottery ticketsLighthouse bingo nightA remaining gift from Gil, who Wilbur often described as, “My lover, my brother, my father.” Gil lived down the hall in the same apartment building on Pine Street. In the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, Gil ran from his job at the Chronicle to Wilbur’s apartment to make sure he was safe.Paratransit scrips ensured Wilbur was provided cab rides all over the cityAnxious to collect his voicemails when feeling lowLighthouse, HalloweenI visited Wilbur in the hospital when we first met and again just before he died, the only two times I saw him without his glasses
