Diamond Dave Whitaker died March 2, and with him went a part of San Francisco’s soul.
Diamond D, as he called himself whenever he got me on the phone, was an icon, the kind of person who made this city a beacon for the wild, the crazy, the poets, the artists, the radicals, the beats, and the hippies. He was all of that.
He was also one of the sweetest, kindest people I have ever met.
The legends are more than legend, they are true: Diamond D was, indeed, the first person to smoke pot with Bob Dylan. He introduced Dylan to the writing of Woody Guthrie, which Dylan freely admits changed his life. Some of Dylan’s earliest songs were recorded at Diamond D’s house in Minneapolis.
Michael Donnelly has a great obit here.
Diamond Dave lived much of his life in San Francisco. He did pirate radio, and I was on a bunch of his shows. He organized underground poetry readings. He lived in later years in a place that was somewhere between a squat and a converted warehouse behind the Farmer’s Market on Alemany; out the window of his room was an unpermitted skateboard park. He didn’t skate, but he loved the outlaw skaters.
In fact, Diamond Dave seemed to love everyone. He had that old, wonderful, hippie vibe that hate and anger were just a waste of time and energy.
Every time he read poetry or presented or lead a demonstration, he would end by saying, “don’t panic; keep it organic.”
The guy loved learning. Every year, well into his late 70s, he would register for classes at City College. (He would also help organize demonstrations when the administration tried to make cuts).
He was, on every level a part of the community.
Once upon a time, San Francisco had plenty of room for people like Diamond D, and John Ross, and folks who cared more about peace and love and art and rebellion than about income and wealth. The city is much, much poorer without them.
Don’t panic; keep it organic. Rest in peace and power, Diamond Dave. The city you made into your home will miss you.
