A little story; truth is stranger than fiction

In the late 80's when I was just starting in the computer industry I would attend a computer networking conference in California called InterOp. The first couple of years I went the conference was in San Jose.

This particular year InterOp was held in San Francisco at the Moscone center. I don't remember what hotel I was staying at, but it was within walking distance of the conference center. Most years I went, someone I knew would be at the conference with me, but that year I was there alone, so during my downtime I would walk around the city, or catch a cab to different parts of the city to sight see.

The day that I remember most vividly I was walking around Market Street at quitting time. I guess I've always enjoyed people watching and striking up conversations. Not knowing the city too well, I drifted off of Market, to what I think was the south side of Market. It's been a while so my memory may not be real clear now.

Anyway, after about a block in this new direction it was becoming evident that I was out of my element as a woman came running out of one of the many barred and fenced shops along the street, knife in hand, chasing a guy down the sidewalk. At this, I decided that this would be just a walk around the block. It's amazing the details you remember of past events, and one of my recollections is that this entire area smelled like pee mixed with garbage. Lovely.

So I made it through turn 3 without further incident, although I must say I was very intimidated by the city, more that I'd been in Chicago (and having been mugged at gunpoint before).

I'm halfway into my return to "safety" when all hell breaks loose on the street about 100 yards ahead of me. A funked up looking car, purple I think, tears up the street in my direction, slams on the brakes, and screeches to a halt. A guy stands up through the sunroof with a shot gun and begins firing; at what or whom I don't remember either.

I'm transfixed at what I'm seeing, thinking that I surely cannot continue down the street, and I don't relish walking back around the block either. As I'm contemplating this next move, a hand grabs my arm.

I look down to see a black man, in his 30's would be my guess, and he says "You're in the wrong place" and proceeds to lead me down the street past the car with the gunman in it who is now in a heated screaming match with people on the other side of the street.

I forgot to mention that I was wearing a suit. It was the 80s.

We exchange chit-chat; he asked where I was from; told me he was from St. Louis and what not. Before I know it we're at the corner, across from the block we were on. I turn around to thank him and he's gone! I'm talking less than a second and he had his hand on my arm the entire time!

Some would say that he just blended into the rush hour crowd. Others might infer that I couldn't distinguish one black man from another.

I've thought about that day a lot since then.

I believe I was saved by my guardian angel that day. I've had other experiences that have bolstered my belief in the presence of my guardian angel and maybe I'll share those with you sometime later.