The Curious Case of the Hotel City Hall
Picture this: you have a pocketful of tax money and a very official-looking piece of paper. You march down to City Hall, ready to do your civic duty, but when you step inside... a bellhop asks if he can take your bags. Luggage carts glide by. You can smell fresh coffee and bacon from the hotel restaurant.
This isn't a strange dream. This was San Francisco, circa 1912. For a few bewildering years, the seat of government was also a place where you could get turn-down service.
The story begins with the great shake-up of 1906. The city's magnificent old City Hall had crumbled, leaving the government without a home. While a new, grander structure was slowly rising from the rubble, the city's officials needed a place to work. In a move of brilliant (or perhaps desperate) thinking, they set their sights on the brand-new Hotel Whitcomb on Market Street. Before a single tourist could check in, the city rented two entire floors, turning luxury suites and ballrooms into a maze of municipal offices.
As you can imagine, this led to some wonderfully odd situations. Folks arriving to contest a parking fine would find themselves navigating a lobby filled with out-of-town visitors. "Pardon me," a citizen might ask the concierge, "is the Treasurer's office to the left or right of the ice machine?"
- A trip to the Mayor's office often involved sharing an elevator with guests heading to the rooftop garden for afternoon tea.
- Official city records were filed away in closets originally designed for steamer trunks and evening gowns.
- Debates at the Board of Supervisors meetings were sometimes accompanied by the faint sound of a band playing in the hotel's main dining room.
This fantastic arrangement lasted until 1915, when the beautiful new City Hall we know today finally opened its doors. The government officials packed their documents and moved out, allowing the Hotel Whitcomb to finally become just a hotel. But for three strange and wonderful years, San Francisco offered the most unique civic experience in America: part bureaucracy, part bed-and-breakfast.