San Francisco has always prided itself on its cosmopolitanism. The event that gave birth to the city, the Gold Rush, attracted a flood of immigrants from across the globe. Shopkeepers from China rubbed shoulders with clerks from Valparaiso, bankers from Paris and black sailors from New York. In 1852, it was said that every single country in the world was represented by at least one prostitute.
But from time to time, the city's vaunted cosmopolitanism has broken down, and never more spectacularly than one warm November day in 1855. What was intended to be a glorious celebration of international amity turned into what may have been the biggest and most embarrassing drunken meltdown in the city's history. By happy coincidence, this debacle took place in the city's first swanky neighborhood – South Park.
The event that precipitated the "Battle of South Park" was the Russian defeat at Sevastopol – the decisive battle of the Crimean War. The Crimean War is largely forgotten today, but like all wars before and since it inspired great patriotic fervor at the time. To celebrate the fall of Sevastopol, San Francisco hosted a grand march and banquet in honor of the victorious allies – France, England, "Sardinia"and Turkey. (There were apparently no Turks in San Francisco, since no Turks took part in the program.)
The procession began at Second and Market in the morning and then marched south to a great pavilion erected in South Park, the city's newest neighborhood.
An enormous tent in South Park was packed with 1,500 to 2,000 people, seated at 10 230-foot-long tables. Thousands more gathered outside to listen to speeches. The opulent feast featured a huge ox, roasted whole and standing on the stage; 20 whole roast mutton carcasses; and more than 100 roast pigs. Next to the ox stood a dazzling 15-foot-high cake that was a replica of Sevastopol's Malakoff Tower. Liquid refreshments were equally bountiful.
A reporter from the Daily Alta California wrote: "We counted 2,500 bottles of claret placed upon the tables before the company were seated; besides, we noticed a large quantity held in reserve for further necessities. Champagne, ale, porter and lager beer were equally abundant." This world-class open bar did credit to the organizers' generosity, but it proved to be unwise.
After a Te Deum played by an orchestra of 50, accompanied by 100 singers, a long procession of speakers took the stage. A French pastor declaimed, "There is something in this war which is wonderful; it is to me a war of giants, between Civilization and Barbarism." The French consul informed the audience, "Wherever Russia appears, the buoyancy of the human intellect is at once arrested. Religious fanaticism, the abasement of man and the knout (whip) follow forthwith."
The consul's words were prescient: Although Russia did not appear, the abasement of man was indeed about to follow. As a press report politely put it, "The company were indisposed to listen to dull, dry speeches; the wine and excitement of the day were having their natural effect."
Suddenly the floodgates burst. In 20 different places in the audience, orators from all four countries began shouting and arguing. The official speakers were drowned out. Frenchmen gesticulated violently; Brits and Americans yelled back. Chunks of bread began flying through the air, soon joined by other foodstuffs. In the words of the diligent Alta reporter, "[A] trussed turkey or roast crackling might be seen describing erratic courses across the pavilion. Greasy pieces of pork came in violent contact with bald uncovered pates. …Wine flowed freely. … One man bearing the French flag across his shoulders, climbed up, inspired by the encouraging shouts around him, but missing his hold, unfortunately rent his nether garment in a manner too shocking to relate."
The food fight and bad French moon a-rising were scandalous enough, but things really degenerated when the cake was cut. Apparently impatient with the speed with which it was being served, some "mischievous wretch" seized a rope and toppled the whole 15-foot tower. Other patriots began climbing onto the tables, which collapsed atop seated dignitaries.
A Frenchman offended by the low placement of his nation's flag climbed to the roof of the pavilion and raised it higher, which set off a wild flag-raising contest among Brits, French and Americans. The Alta reported, "This scene continued for some time, until the roof was covered with sailors and others, and the western ends of the fabric, being overloaded, fell with a loud crash to the earth, putting the orchestra, which was immediately beneath, to flight." The ladies and gentlemen hurriedly decamped, and hordes of "vagabonds and loafers" poured in and devoured everything.
Thus ended what Shumate called San Francisco's first "attempt at international goodwill," which had the misfortune of taking place in a West that was still wild.
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