The Page

When you walk into The Page on a Wednesday just after 4 p.m., you’ll find Rudy N. Smith, clad in a leather jacket and baseball cap, peacefully sipping a Heineken at the end of the bar. Bealo Hall will soon sit in the stool to his right and order a gin and orange juice, her thin dancer frame ornamented by long colorful earrings that sway when she talks. It won’t be long until Laura Mason eventually settles in to the right of Hall and a martini arrives, eliciting an infectious laugh from her broad smile.

The trio is here every week, well known by those who frequent the Divisadero dive bar, and often joined by a few more members of their “crew.”

The “Wednesday crew,” as they’re called, is not your average group of San Francisco bar-goers. They’re all over 80 years old. They’ve all been residents of the city for longer than I’ve been alive. And they all visit each week: not for the drinks, but because it’s a tradition that’s been going on for more than 20 years.

While the group is small now, there were originally around 15 people who would regularly drop in, Hall tells me, as she pulls a folded piece of white paper out of her purse. Each person’s name is handwritten in a list, a few with a “D” next to their name for deceased and some with a “moved” for those who have left San Francisco. Eleven still live in the area and could show up on any given Wednesday.

For those who have passed, a small silver plaque is affixed to the wooden bar’s edge with a name, date and a few words immortalizing their spirit. A few framed photos hang behind the bar in memory as well.