Memories of Lucky Penny

   I saw a penny on the ground while walking in Golden Gate Park a few mornings ago, passing it without a serious thought about picking it up. It was unusual for me that I didn't kneel down to retrieve it, and as I walked on a bit further, I thought about why I hadn't. I have always thought of lost money in the street as being lucky to find, and this could have been a lucky penny.
   As those last two words came to mind, I immediately starting thinking about an old-time neighborhood diner near me and Fernanda's apartment with that name.
   Like so many older and unremarkable restaurants in San Francisco (and I'm guessing many other cities as well, including my home for forty two years, New York City), places like Lucky Penny always seemed somehow like they would be in business forever, though I could never fathom how it had stayed solvent for so long.
   Serving not such great food (although Fernanda always liked their veggie sandwich), The Lucky Penny was wonderful to me for its' true diner feel, filled as it was with an often older and wide cross section of apparent ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds, which I see less and less of as this city continues to attract the wealthier classes. There were always black people there, too, who I have always enjoyed sharing a culture with, but certainly see less here than I did in New York. Although I didn't go there too often, it was reassuring to know that the Lucky Penny was there. It's burgundy colored and sometimes ripped vinyl booth seats seemed like an integral part of a real, traditional diner experience.
   There was something very egalitarian about it for me, seeing all of those different kinds of people together, in one place. If I was there in the morning, the restaurant would often have booths of young people eating off a night of drinking or drugging, as the place was twenty four hours a day, three hundred and sixty five days a year. These people never bothered me, only reminding me of my younger years, and adding to the sense I had of the place as a repository for all.
   I vaguely remember hearing that the Lucky Penny would in fact be closing some time before it actually did, but don't recall if I ever knew the actual date it had been scheduled to do so. I passed it one day as I drove down Masonic Avenue, and it was closed. It was the first time I had ever seen it that way.
   I don't know why I have not written about the closure of this landmark before, nor seemingly even thought to, but it's interesting to me that I was moved to do so by my split second decision not to pick up a potentially lucky penny that morning. Perhaps the loss of that opportunity led to the recollection of another.